Dawn of Another Day
by Jane Lu
Summary: The two of them never expected to receive a second chance, a major role to play in the war against Morgoth who had returned from the Void.  But do they have a choice when the consequences of losing means the destruction of Middle-earth?  -AU Story-
1. Sighs of the Witch King

**This is the first fanfiction I had published, so I'm a bit nervous in how it would turn out. For those who had really checked what the Second Prophecy of Namo is really about, don't try to correct me here because I didn't follow every word it says. I just thought it would be ironic if Morgoth was defeated by the person he had least expected. After all, this is a fanfiction. Anything could happen. This story is based on some of my day dreams, so some parts may seem weird. (I hope not.)**

**Enjoy!**

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"Empty darkness is stirring, ancient evil is arising,

The Doors of Night are broken, the Black Enemy escaping,

The Sun and Moon destroyed, everlasting night falling,

Upon Middle-earth, where the Free Peoples reside.

Taking up arms in imminent war, all four races unite,

Defending their land, to their deaths they will fight.

Despair shall fall upon multitudes, many battles fought amain,

Weeping shall be heard, countless tears shed over the slain,

Dagor Dagorath has commenced, hope is searched in vain.

Yet the lost shall be found, the fallen finally risen,

A crucial choice shall be made, enmity finally forgiven,

When the Light and Fire of the Final Day to the heavens ascend.

Mercy of Eru Ilúvatar incarnate,

In the Light and Fire of the Final Dawn.

Upon them, they carry Arda's fate,

On their dawning the battle will be won.

The Light and Fire, seemly come too late,

Shall herald the call of the Final Day."

The Second Prophecy of Námo

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Dark storm clouds rolled across the crimson sky as thunder boomed in the distance. The smoke from Mount Doom added its color into the clouds while molten lava sprayed into the acrid air of Mordor. Standing resolute as ever, the dark tower of Barad-dûr rose above the bare, rocky landscape with the eye of Sauron burning ever bright on the highest pinnacle. Orcs assembled as an army around the tower, clanking of armor and ringing of swords sounding out.

The Witch King of Angmar sighed from his viewpoint on the roof of Minas Morgul. Here was another day in the desolate land of Mordor. He never liked this land since he first set step into it. The sky was ever dark with no sign of sunlight. He longed to see the sun coming up over the mountains at dawn. He still could faintly remember the old realm of Númenor, with its clear blue skies, crisp green plains and the deep blue sea that surrounded it.

_Useless it is, to dwell upon such thoughts_, he thought to himself angrily, _Númenor is gone now, sunk beneath the waters just because Sauron had to entice Ar-Pharaz__ôn to cross the Ban of the Valar!_

Since Númenor had been destroyed, the Witch King rebelled against Sauron the best he could under the opposition of the other Nazgûl. But after Sauron had dealt with him, he lost the will to fight. Even though the Witch King still wanted to rebel against Sauron, he carried out his commands without question. It earned him Sauron's trust as he planned the army's movements accordingly and devised effective battle strategies that many a times worked with great success.

_What good it is to fight a battle you cannot win, when you know you cannot change your destiny whatever you do?_

He still remembered the time when he refused to obey any of Sauron's orders and shut himself in at Minas Morgul. Sauron had sent a legion of orcs led by the Mouth of Sauron and the other Seven. Excelling in sorcery, the Witch King made quick work of the orcs, knocked the Mouth of Sauron unconscious, and put the Eight under a binding spell. But all that spell-casting left him exhausted, and he was unprepared when Sauron himself came to face him in the form of a heavily armored man with a large mace and his One Ring on one finger. The Witch King tried to use sorcery again, but Sauron had disabled his ring with ease. With his powers severely weakened because he depended on the ring for sorcery, he still fought the losing battle. Flashes of lightening filled the Morgul Vale on that day. All the spells the Witch King threw at Sauron bounced useless off his armor. Finally he stopped, falling to the ground on his knees in exhaustion. Then Sauron had swung his mace, and that was the last thing the Witch King remembered.

He grimaced. Sauron had taken him unconscious to Barad-dûr, and "as a punishment for being so disobedient and rebellious", tortured him until he screamed in agony. The Witch King still hadn't completely recovered from it yet and now tired easily from leading battles and fighting in them himself. In fact, he had to leave most duties to Khamûl because of this reason.

_None of this makes sense to me, _He thought, confused. _I am a wraith. I cannot feel, cannot slumber, cannot eat, cannot be harmed by ordinary weapons, and cannot feel fatigue. Why is it taking so long for me to recover from my ordeal?_

_The ring shouldn't have been mine to accept. I thought it would benefit my country and expand my powers of sorcery. Effectively, it has done that for me. But for what price? I was turned into a wraith; I can no longer see the countenance of the living. Even my true name was lost to me. "The Witch King of Angmar" and "Lord of the Nazgûl" are hardly names I would call myself. I would have given everything I own in order to become a man again. But now it is too late._

A blast of hot wind blew from the direction of Mount Doom in another one of its frequent eruptions. The Witch King dropped down into a balcony and strode back into the tower to his study, his metal boots clanking and black cloak swirling in the eerie green hallways. No one else was in the fortress, for Sauron had ordered the Witch King to be isolated. But it suited him fine. The Nine sometimes proved too much for him to tolerate. He disliked talking and quarreling with his second in command, Khamûl. Although the lieutenant was thorough and diligent in his work, the Witch King knew that he disliked him. The twins Herumor and Fuinur were bothersome in their supposedly amusing antics. Eärnur never spoke or interacted with anyone since recruited. Gothmog enjoyed killing and challenging the others to a duel. Morgomir spent too much time trying to please Sauron. Akhorahil was mentally unstable and showed his insane side more often than the Witch King liked. Ji Indur was too lazy and left all his work to the others. The Witch King had once made up his mind to find out how did they ever become kings in the first place.

He reached his study and opened the double doors. Inside was a large room with a high ceiling. Bookshelves full of books lined the four walls and a heavy wooden desk was placed in the middle. A high stand made of dark metal stood in a corner with a glass ball swirling with mysterious colors on top.

The Witch King scowled. It was also beyond his comprehension that why he had to take over this tower, why he had to destroy the kingdoms of Arthedain, Cardolan, and Rhudaur, why he had to serve Sauron, why he had challenged Eärnur to a duel that ended his life as a man and most importantly, why that elf Glorfindel had made that prophecy about him.

_"Far off yet is his doom, and not by the hand of man will he fall."_

_Not by the hand of man will he fall?, _the Witch King thought, striding over to his desk and sitting down, _There are many other races other than man, and that is hardly a comfort. I do not delight to think of this topic. Glorfindel's words have great power, for he is on equal status with the legendary Maiar. I have no doubt that what he said would come to be. Hmm… it has been a few hundred years since he spoke of that prophecy. That will be quite long according to the years of man. My time is near then. Perhaps this is my hour._

The glass ball on the metal stand suddenly glowed fiery red. Again the Witch King sighed and walked over to it.

_Witch King, my Ring has been found._ The deep, sinister voice of Sauron resounded in his head as he spoke in the Black Speech.

_And how does that concern me? _The Witch King forced himself to spit out the harsh syllables of the language in turn.

He was not particularly pleased in being interrupted from his thoughts. Nor he did not care much about Sauron's Ring. In his opinion Sauron was foolish to have placed most of his powers into a piece of jewelry. Every sorcerer and user of power knew that was the surest way to have their power misused.

_Do not be insolent, wraith! You shall ride out with the others and search for it! Khamûl caught a creature by the name of Gollum and he has revealed the location. Search for the country named the Shire by the Gladden River, and find the man named Baggins. _Sauron hissed angrily.

_I am on my way. _The Witch King said grimly and severed the connection. But he did not leave the study; instead he sat down at his desk and from one of the drawers drew out a very thick leather-bound book.

Unknown to others, he had been recording history since he became a wraith. The bookshelves of the study were lined completely with thick volumes containing this valuable information, along with a few about sorcery or war strategies. Most records were about the histories of Númenor, Arnor and Gondor, with only a select few about Rohan, Harad and Rhûn. It was a collection that most historians would be fighting to get their hands on. The Witch King knew this also, and placed many protection spells on his treasured library as a result.

_With this pen I had recorded history for at least two Ages, _The Witch King thought, taking out a quill pen and a bottle of ink. _This is the only comfort I find being as a servant of Sauron. I am loath to think of what would happen to those volumes if I perish one day._

And on a page next to a carefully drawn map of Middle-earth, the Witch King wrote down these words,

"Third Age 2998, The One Ring of Sauron has been found. Rumors that it is in the land called the Shire, in the hands of one whose family name is Baggins. Sent by Sauron, the nine Nazgûl ride abroad from Minas Morgul."

Finishing the short paragraph, the Witch King put his writing tools and the book back again. _Sauron must not see these books. The consequences would be severe if he discovers them._

Finally he walked out of the study, locking the doors behind him and sealing them with a spell. Then he went to the armory to prepare for the long journey. After a few minutes, the Witch King was ready and led his horse out of Minas Morgul. The black hooded figures of the Eight were waiting with their horses in distance from the front gate, with Khamûl at the very front.

"It is an honor for you to join us, Captain. We missed you back at Barad-dûr." Khamûl drawled, his Westron laced heavily with the accent of the Easterlings.

The Witch King fingered the handle of his hand-and-a-half sword in annoyance. Khamûl had always tried to humiliate and argue with him in front of the others. Even a fool would have known that he was trying to take over his position as Lord of the Nazgûl.

"Ugh...Enough of your dry sarcasm, Khamûl." Herumor said in disgust.

"We must make hast to search for the Ring!" Morgomir reminded.

"As if," Khamûl laughed, "Maybe the Captain will show mercy on his adversaries again. He is certainly not fit for the title of 'Terror of Middle-earth'"

"If you continue to mock me like this," The Witch King said icily, "Then I would relieve you of your position as lieutenant."

In a flash, his black blade was out of its sheath and pointing at the Easterling. Morgomir and Gothmog too drew their weapons and stood at Khamûl's side.

"So you have finally decided to demote me," Khamûl said slowly, drawing his sword, "Then we will settle this with a duel. How fitting, to have one before setting out for a hunt for the Ring. If I win, I will replace you as the Lord of the Nazgûl. If I lose, then I will cooperate with you on this journey."

_He has finally challenged me for this position, _The Witch King thought, _He could have done it anytime, but why now? If we set out any later, Sauron would be displeased to hear of this delay. I have to break this up right now. Perhaps I should not have drawn so rashly._

"I will fight you myself if you refuse to be silent, Khamûl!" Fuinur shouted, "Come on, Herumor. We can take him down!"

"A fight? I love fights!" Akhorahil laughed insanely and also drew his sword.

"Confound it..." Ji Indur muttered, readying his weapon, "Akhorahil, we do not need you to make this worse."

The Witch King hesitated. The quarrel used to be between him and Khamûl, and now most of the others got dragged in. The whole situation could evolve into a big fight in any moment. Sauron would be furious to hear of it.

Khamûl suddenly struck without warning at the Witch King. Herumor and Fuinur cried out in dismay as the Witch King defended. He slashed back without mercy and drove the other back. They exchanged quick blows and slashes, the ringing of metal on metal loud in the valley. Khamûl was an able swordsman, but he relied on speed more than strength. He also had less training than the Witch King, which made him wonder why the lieutenant had challenged him in the first place.

The Witch King then intercepted a stab meant to pierce his currently undefended left side. He gave his sword a sharp twist, which sent Khamûl's flying out of reach easily. The Witch King swung at his opponent, aiming to incapacitate him from shoulder to hip as a punishment for his nerve to challenge him. But his sword struck with a loud clang against something. Everything and everyone became unexpectedly silent. The Witch King shook his head clear his vision and saw who blocked the strike.

Eärnur, the former king of Gondor whom the Witch King had turned into a wraith, was holding back his sword with his own.

"What…" The Witch King began.

"This duel is meaningless," Eärnur said quietly, "Let it cease, for we have a long journey to travel."

This was one of the few times the Witch King had actually heard Eärnur speak, and the words he spoke surprised him greatly. Nobody, except Khamûl, dared to speak in such a manner to him. It unnerved the Witch King. Had he become so weak that any of the Eight could challenge his authority? He placed his sword back into its sheath as Khamûl retrieved his sullenly.

"Enough of this madness. It is time to set out." The Witch King said shortly and mounted on his horse. The others followed and rode fast in the direction of the West.

_Why does Khamûl have to cause trouble every time? _The Witch King thought as he rode, _I wish Sauron never created the Ring. He lost it; he should find it, not us. But why did Eärnur block Khamûl's strike? I was fortunate that he did not plan to avenge himself for what I had done to him. There are so many things I don't understand. Why do I also have a feeling that this quest would be a failure?_

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_**Please review if you can. I must know how you think of my story so I can make improvements on it. You may correct my grammar, spelling, and the order and accuracy of events.**  
_


	2. Sauron's Musings

**Here's the second chapter. It will be somewhat short, because I can't think of anything to add to it. So do I have to do a disclaimer? Anyway, here it is:**

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything from LOTR, including characters and places. They belong to Mr. Tolkien, who would had written more stories about them.**

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Sauron watched the Nazgûl leave from his eye on top of Barad-dûr. He was not a gigantic flaming eye as most people may think. The eye was only a tool, like a looking glass. Sauron himself appeared as a black hooded figure right now. When Númenor sank below the sea, Sauron lost his ability to change into any form that was fair. In fact, he looked exactly like a Nazgûl. Sometimes he himself even joined in among them before the Witch King had recruited Eärnur. Sauron was currently seated on his throne in the throne room of Barad-dûr, a dark gloomy room with high ceilings and heavy furniture. He brooded over the things to come, and of the next wave of those bothersome Haradrim and Easterling ambassadors he had to tend to. Sometimes it does pay when one makes an alliance with more than one country.

_I will find my Ring, _Sauron thought as he focused on his Ring again._ With that in hand, I shall soon conquer Middle-earth! I did not join Master Melkor without reason. He said together we shall change Middle-earth and make it the way we desire. I shall turn this land into an organized and ordered society. I shall dominate the minds and wills of all the races. With the Ring in hand, I will fear nothing! Maybe except Eru, the Valar and Master Melkor. But Eru and the Valar had abandoned Middle-earth, hadn't they? There were no signs of them coming to this land after Master Melkor was taken away into the Void._

Sauron shuddered. He remembered the day when Master Melkor was captured very well. He was there to witness it. They had been at the fortress of Angband and the massive army of the Valar was attacking them. Master Melkor sent his entire force of dragons, orcs, balrogs and various horrors against them, but they were no match. Finally the Valar, including Master Melkor's own brother Manwë, seized him, bound him in the chain of Angainor and tossed him into the Void. He had screamed and cursed the Ainur and Ilúvatar as he was dragged out. He also begged them to release him. Sauron watched all of this from his hiding place in Angband. After experiencing the capture of his master, Sauron did not want to end up like him. Master Melkor had looked absolutely pathetic when he was captured. Even worse was when Sauron actually went to Eönwë the Maia, the herald and banner-bearer of Manwë, and almost repented of his wrongdoings. Eönwë told him it was not his authority to pardon those of his own order and Sauron must go before the Valar for judgment. At this statement Sauron refused, for he knew that the Valar will toss him in the Void along with Master Melkor. It was better to remain still in Middle-earth and continue his work than to be trapped in the Void forever with the fallen Vala. In the Void Master Melkor would stay, until the Dagor Dagorath.

Sauron knew the prophecy well. He had heard it when Námo prophesied while the Valar were bringing Master Melkor away. But he did not understand all of it. Why did the fate of Middle-earth rest on light and the fire of the final dawn? Sauron understood the part about how Melkor would find a way to escape the Void. To be honest, Sauron was not looking forward to it. Master Melkor hadn't been exactly kind to him, and there were many times Sauron wondered why he had joined him. He also feared the fallen Vala greatly. If Master Melkor broke out of the Void now, he would be furious with Sauron for not bringing Middle-earth under his rule by now. Even if Sauron did bring Middle-earth under his rule, Master Melkor would still demand more of him. He was tired of being ordered about by Master Melkor, although he dare not oppose. It was really Master Melkor who told Sauron to tell the Númenóreans to break the Ban of the Valar, causing the island to be destroyed and invoking the Witch King's rebellion. Sauron wanted to rule over his servants better than Master Melkor did, but because of his advice he had lost the loyalty of the Witch King. It was all because of Master Melkor. Sauron actually wished he would either be defeated or not present when the prophecy came to be fulfilled.

_Disturbing thoughts, _Sauron thought, quite upset now because of the notion of how Master Melkor would return, _They should not dwell on Master Melkor. Strange events had been happening in these past hundred years. The Witch King, my most faithful servant has rebelled against me! He still continues to do so, although he hides it by doing my commands without question. I wonder if I could still trust him…_

Thus he thought and mused, day by day. The ambassadors came and went, literally leaving Sauron with an ache in the head as he listened to their babbles about their army movements and progress. There was even a Haradrim one who had been so brave to ask for food support from Mordor, for their country was suffering a minor famine at the moment. Sauron had struck him down simply with an inaudible spell in his foul mood, but then granted his request because he did not want to lose Harad as an ally. More days passed by, and there was still no news from the Nazgûl.

_Speaking of that, it would be prudent of me to check on their progress. For days they had failed to contact me. It is strange that they should do that. _He thought as he sat in his own study in Barad-dûr, pouring over an extensive chart of the merchant goods traded in the last month, _The Witch King better get back soon, so I can give all those documents to him to deal with._

Sauron rolled up the chart, tossed it carelessly into a growing pile in the corner of the room and turned his mind to the eye on top of the tower of Barad-dûr. The entire land of Middle-earth became spread before his eyes. He saw the entire land of Mordor and noticed the orcs at Cirith Ungol were arguing again. Minas Morgul was empty and Mount Doom was erupting as usual. Sauron then turned his attention to the West. He saw the white city of Minas Tirith in Gondor. The people there were looking unusually depressed and all had looks of desperation. He saw the country of Rohan, with the people of Edoras hurrying around. It looked like that they were preparing for battle. Sauron smiled a little. His influence and power was beginning to spread to the West and affecting the people. Soon he would have Middle-earth under his rule. He saw the tower of Orthanc at Isengard, the residence of Saruman. He was once the Maia Curumo, but was considered weak compared to Sauron. Saruman was too easily led astray and now served him as a servant. Sauron had met him while using his palantír and immediately recognized him. He still didn't trust Saruman even though he swore to serve him. Sauron then looked further west and tried to search for the land called the Shire. But that was the extent of his eye. He could see no further than the Weathertop. Sauron then turned his attention to Rivendell, and saw the Nazgûl chasing a rider on a white horse. The rider was an extremely short man and he appeared to be on his last breath. Recognizing the effects of the Morgul blade, Sauron immediately contacted the Witch King with his mind.

_Give me a progress report, Witch King?_

_Why do you interrupt us now? I am leading a chase to retrieve your Ring! The halfling has it in his possession. _The Witch King seemed to be extremely put off.

_And what exactly is a halfling? _Sauron decided to ignore the Witch King's rudeness, for he was curious about the short man.

_That would be the least expected question I presumed you would ask. I thought you would be more concerned about your Ring. If Glorfindel goes beyond River Bruinen, we cannot cross it. Elrond ward us off with the protection spells he erected around Rivendell._

_Go and retrieve the Ring. You know Elrond can't do anything to destroy you._

The Witch King and the others led their horses across the river, just as a flood shaped like galloping horses swept down towards them. Without even time to cry aloud, the Nine were swept away out of view. Sauron scowled and turned his mind away from the eye. They had being so close in regaining the Ring. Perhaps he shouldn't have interfered in the chase. But the Nazgûl were going to pay for it when they get back to Mordor.

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**Read and Review please! It is really encouraging to get reviews for a story. You are welcome to correct any mistakes.**


	3. The Pursuit for the One Ring

**Sorry it took so long to write the third chapter. Writer's block was somewhat of a hard obstacle to overcome. I know this part is written in the book, but I had written it from a different point of view.**

**One thing I had noticed is that many people had read this story, but no one had given even one review! Is there something wrong with my story? Is it too boring? I'm not the kind of person to stop writing because I didn't get any reviews. But it is really nice to hear from the readers. So please take some time to review, thanks!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the Lord of the Rings or anything related to it. It all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien who should had continued on with his _The Lord of the Rings _sequel: _The New Shadow_.**

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The Witch King and the others rode fast along Rohan and were about to enter Isengard. They hadn't stopped for days, but had to pause for a few times to allow their horses to rest. Enough time had already been wasted as the Nine fruitlessly searched for the Shire among the vales of Anduin. All the Witch King wanted was to finish this quest as fast as possible. Although he did not want Sauron to dominate Middle-earth, which was done by regaining the One Ring, he did not wish to incur his wrath.

_Perhaps I would not survive the tortures Sauron has in store for me. But does that matter? He cares nothing for his servants. I served him willingly for thousands of years only because he had bound my mind under his power. If Sauron brings Middle-earth under his rule, the whole land would fall into despair just like Mordor. I saw what Sauron did to Númenor. Am I going to aid him in the destruction of Middle-earth…?_

Such thoughts occupied the Witch King's mind as he rode. It helped to drown out the bickering of the others and the heavy sense of guilt. Somehow he knew that Sauron would never regain his Ring no matter how hard he tried. Surely it didn't hurt to pretend to look for it? The Witch King decided to put such thoughts aside and concentrate on searching the Ring. Khamûl had suggested them to visit Saruman to ask about the whereabouts of the Shire. The Witch King strongly disagreed with this. In his opinion, Saruman was not to be trusted. But he had no choice but to comply with Khamûl, for he did not want to spend much time in searching for the Shire. So here the Nazgûl were, heading for the tower of Orthanc in Isengard. They rode up to the entrance and dismounted, heading for the door. The Witch King was not looking forward to this visit, but suddenly a thought occurred to him.

_I better go to Saruman alone. He is less likely to yield information in the presence of all nine of us. Besides, I do not want Khamûl to cause trouble again. He has been provoking arguments since we had left Minas Morgul. _

"It will be best if I go alone." He said, turning around.

"That would not be wise." Khamûl was always ready to object.

_Not now! _The Witch King thought, frustrated.

"I have a good reason for this, and I would appreciate that you would comply for now." He decided to ignore him from now on.

"The Captain is right, Khamûl. Who would want all nine Nazgûl gathered in their sitting room?" Herumor said lightly.

"We will stay here and look around. Maybe we will find out what is old man Saruman up to." Fuinur said.

"Do what you want to do, as long as we could find…"Morgomir started.

"And I don't care at all!" Akhorahil added.

Morgomir scowled.

"As long as you succeed, Captain." Gothmog said.

"As long as somebody else is doing all the work, I don't mind." Ji Indur said lazily.

Eärnur remained silent, just like always.

Satisfied, the Witch King walked up the long flight of stairs. As long as the others agreed with him, he shouldn't worry about Khamûl. For some reason Herumor and Fuinur were always supporting him sometime after Númenor was destroyed. Probably it had to do with the fact that the twins were also Númenóreans and were fiercely proud of their country, just like the Witch King.

_When did we, the Nazgûl, ever become so complicated and split up? _The Witch King thought, _Things were so much simpler when Khamûl was first recruited. Being Lord of the Nazgûl was never easy, with Khamûl, Gothmog, Morgomir and the others going against me because they thought I was unfit to lead._

He reached the top of the stairs and knocked on the front door made of black-colored steel with his gauntleted hand. The knock rang in a metallic hollow sound that echoed around inside the foreboding tower of Orthanc. The Witch King waited patiently. One minute passed, then two. There was no sign of Saruman. Perhaps he was not in the tower, or was he refusing to answer the door? The Witch King was getting strangely frustrated.

_Did we come this far just to be refused directions to the Shire by a feeble old man?_

"If you refuse to open this door right now, Saruman, I shall blast it off its hinges!" The Witch King roared, preparing himself to cast a spell.

The door swung open so fast that he was nearly hit. Saruman himself stood at the threshold, looking very irritated. He was a tall regal figure, wearing white robes and carrying a staff made of craved black wood. At one glance he seemed to be an ordinary old man, apart from his clothing and staff. But Sauron had told the Witch King that he too was a Maia of great power.

"There was no need to shout like that." Saruman said testily, making no sign of inviting the Witch King into the tower.

"And it is not good courtesy to keep your guests waiting before your door." The Witch King said just as testily.

"Guests! I think not. You are one of the Nazgûl, the Witch King of Angmar, I presume? When did the Nazgûl ever come knocking at a door invited as guests?" Saruman's tone was mocking.

The Witch King sighed. This Saruman character was going to be hard to deal with. He wondered why Sauron invited Saruman to join him in the first place.

"Spare me your theatrics, Saruman. I came to ask directions to the Shire."

Sauron had told the Nazgûl before to not under all circumstances to reveal their quest if ever the Ring got lost. Anybody who got in their way had to be eliminated. Nobody was to be trusted in this quest, especially Saruman. Saruman started when he heard the words "The Shire" and started to finger his staff nervously.

"I'm afraid you had come to the wrong place to ask, Witch King. I never heard of such a place called the Shire." He said, becoming suddenly apologetic.

The Witch King narrowed his unseen eyes. _He is lying!_

He suddenly had the desire to grab Saruman by the neck and strangle him until he choked out the location of the Shire.

_Where did that notion come from? Surely I would not force information out of another, even Saruman, with such a method! And where did that anger come from?_

"Do not lie to me, Saruman. You know what Sauron will do to his servants when he finds out they had betrayed him. I trust you do not wish for it to happen to you." The Witch King was still angry despite having restrained himself.

"No, no. I would never do that! I have never heard of a place called the Shire. You can try searching the North, or you can ask another one of the Order, Gandalf." Saruman then seemed to panic.

"I do not have time to search for it. Since you had chosen foolishly to keep your lips sealed, I shall find another resource to obtain this information. But if I find out that you are lying, you will suffer the consequences severely. Good day to you, Saruman." The Witch King said coldly, turned around and walked down the stairs.

Even though he was boiling with anger, the Witch King was confused. For a moment while he was speaking to Saruman, he thought he would run his sword through the wizard now and then, all because he wanted to find the Ring. The Witch King shook his head. This was beyond his understanding. Was he not unwilling to carry out the search and was planning to not put his effort into it? Then why was he suddenly feeling that he would do anything to find it, even if it meant striking down all those who stood in his way?

When the Witch King accepted one of the nine rings for nine mortal men doomed to die, his life became closely connected to both his ring and the One Ring. It meant that if it were destroyed, the Witch King and the Eight would lose all their powers and probably even their lives, not to say what would happen to Sauron.

_I better put more effort into finding the Ring then, and search for this Gandalf character Saruman mentioned. I see I do not have a choice here...Perhaps that was the unconscious part of me that desires to find it, knowing that doom will befall the Nine if the quest is failed. _The Witch King decided as he strode quickly down the stairs. The sound of Saruman slamming the door was heard clearly behind him.

_Saruman must have known of the Shire, but for some strange reason was withholding the information from us. He probably is plotting something..._

The Witch King reached the bottom and saw the Eight involved in some kind of a commotion. Gothmog was holding a man in the air by the collar of his clothing and was arguing with Fuinur and Herumor while Morgomir and Eärnur watched calmly. Akhorahil and Ji Indur were arguing with each other about something. He sighed again and hoped Khamûl wasn't at the center of it.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Witch King shouted. They quieted down instantly.

"We have caught someone, a spy of Saruman's." Gothmog answered gruffly, indicating the man he was holding. The man was of short stature and wore a plain tunic, complete with a traveling cloak and a pair of lightweight boots. He was squirming and kept trying to escape Gothmog's grasp.

"I cannot comprehend that why Saruman needs a spy." Morgomir wondered aloud.

"We shall know soon if Gothmog hadn't terrified him into silence," Fuinur answered, "Saruman probably is up to no good."

"Up to no good, just like I am!" Akhorahil echoed.

"I hope you don't mean that, Akhorahil." Ji Indur gave the slightly insane Nazgûl a long look.

"And let the questioning start!" Herumor announced, "Sorry, Captain. It will be best to let Khamûl do the honors. He is the best with this kind of business, although I really do feel sorry for the victim."

Khamûl turned to face the Witch King. He had a malicious smile under his hood.

"I do not mind, as long he has a looser tongue than Saruman's." The Witch King was trying to avoid another conflict.

"So Saruman does not know about the Shire, does he? Or is he unwilling to give his information to you?" Khamûl said mockingly, signaling to Gothmog. Gothmog drew his sword and pointed it at the man's throat. The man trembled even harder.

The Witch King shuddered inwardly. He would never try to force information from a victim by force. The man was about to find out how Khamûl did it successfully.

"So, you seem to be a spy of Saruman's. Tell me your name first, what is Saruman up to, and everything you know. Speak swiftly, and I will allow you to die swiftly." Khamûl took his time in saying each word while Gothmog pushed the sword harder against the man's throat.

"Gríma...Wormtongue is my name, son of Gálmód," The man soon realized he had to give up resisting and could hardly speak because of the sword pressing against his windpipe, "My lord...ordered me to travel to the Shire...to find something there."

The Witch King suddenly had a horrible feeling of apprehension.

"And where is this place called the Shire?"

"It… is in the further West, just in the place of the ruined realm of…Arnor in the south of the old realm of…Angmar." The man known as Gríma stuttered.

"What is Saruman searching for?" The Witch King broke in before Khamûl could. Khamûl threw him a look of disgust.

"I…don't know exactly. Saruman said it was…some kind of a ring of power that belonged to the Dark Lord himself." The man finally gasped out and almost collapsed. Gothmog removed the sword from his throat.

"So Saruman is a traitor. He wants the One Ring for himself." Morgomir stated.

"And so he is," Khamûl said, and turned to the spy, "Now as a sincere thanks for playing your part so willingly, you should be repaid accordingly…"

He raised his sword to decapitate the man, at the same moment when the Witch King saw in a brief vision of Gríma with a dagger striking at Saruman.

"Spare him," He cut in just about Khamûl's sword was about to descend, "This man has a future role to play in the destruction of Saruman."

Khamûl did pause his weapon and turned slowly to face the Witch King.

"I verily hope that your so called 'prophecy' will come to be fulfilled." He said in unhidden contempt.

Gríma fell on his knees before the Witch King, almost weeping and stuttering his thanks.

"Get up," He said sharply, drawing the hem of his robe away as the man tried to kiss them, "I did not do this for your sake. Go back to Saruman and report your findings."

Gríma managed to get up and with a last stammering sentence, fled back to the Orthanc. The Nine watched him go with an air of disdain.

"Now that is one cowardly spy. I bet if we all only looked him in the eye, he would spill everything without hesitation in a second." Herumor commented.

* * *

So this was how the Nazgûl learned of the Shire. At the moment they were riding to their destination as fast as they could. Along the road they had caught more of Saruman's spies. Charts and maps of the Shire were found and taken from them, and Khamûl stationed them at Bree under the threat of death if they dared to flee. They had already passed Enedwaith and Minhiriath and were now crossing the Baranduin River at Sarn Ford. Khamûl spoke up about contacting Sauron that they had found the Shire. The Witch King knew this was a bad idea and turned it down. Sauron did not like to be contacted unexpectedly, especially when they haven't found the Ring yet. Once Morgomir had done so, and Sauron's anger exploded all throughout the mental link. The Nazgûl had headaches for days and were unable to do anything.

The Nine met unexpected resistance from Dúnedain Rangers when they arrived at Sarn Ford. The Witch King gave up on negotiations when he knew that a battle was unavoidable and reluctantly ordered Khamûl to take care of everything. The lieutenant did so effectively, and most of the Rangers were slaughtered while the rest fled. The Nazgûl continued on without further obstacles.

They reached the Shire by nightfall and the Witch King allowed Khamûl to start the search. They had all sensed the Ring been used some days ago, and had traced its source to a small town called Hobbiton. It seemed to be a peaceful place. The people lived in small cottages or in hollowed out hills and quietly attended to their business. Not for the first time, the Witch King wished he could see things in the way he used to when he was still a man. Everything appeared gray and blurry before his eyes and the people were just floating articles of clothing. The Nine's presence at that place seemed to cause all the residents to be at unease. Although the Witch King was unable to see their physical bodies, he could tell that they were extremely short.

"In my memory, this race, in which all the people are extremely short, are called halflings." Fuinur had informed them.

_So this Baggins character may be a halfling,_ The Witch King thought, _I wonder does this make our quest easier._

The Nine had to split up to search for this exclusive "Baggins". The Witch King rode around Hobbiton, not really searching. He saw three halflings with a great deal of packs and boxes and were conversing merrily as they packed, but he didn't pay attention to them much. Herumor was at a distance speaking with a halfling. Within five seconds the halfling ran back to his house and Herumor threw up his hands in defeat. Eärnur wasn't even searching and was just sitting on his horse, staring at the town as if he were trying to see the halflings. But most of them had gone indoors. Akhorahil was poking around in the halflings' gardens and peeking into their houses. The Witch King could faintly sense the presence of the Ring, although not strong enough to discern its position.

_The power of the Ring is difficult to detect for some reason. Perhaps it has lost some of its power? _The Witch King had thought, confused.

When day finally came, the Nazgûl gathered together again. They left Hobbiton since the Ring seemed to have left and was heading East. Again they split up to search for the one carrying the Ring. The Witch King had been riding his horse along the East Road when he felt the Ring calling faintly again. He was almost sure that someone was hiding in the bushes along the road. He sniffed, for his sense of smell was only secondary to his hearing. He had even dismounted and was going toward the bushes to check. At the last moment the Witch King turned away, scolding himself for being paranoid, and rode off. The others didn't find the one carrying the Ring either. Khamûl had asked a halfling farmer about Baggins and was chased off by his dogs. But later he went off to place spies in Bree. Morgomir had been riding along the East Road too and also sensed someone hiding in the bushes, but was forced to leave when some elves appeared. The Witch King was somewhat disturbed at this. The elves never left their realms of Mirkwood, Rivendell, and Lothlórien. Probably the influence of Sauron's spreading power was truly growing stronger and the elves were leaving for the Grey Havens. Maybe soon all Middle-earth would be deserted because of this.

When evening came, they still had no luck in finding the Ring or the halfling Baggins. The Witch King was getting worried. He did not want to suffer Sauron's wrath again and was glad he forbade Khamûl from contacting him. He sent four of the others to Weathertop, the place where the halfling Baggins might be heading and some others to Bree. The Nazgûl split up again and the Witch King himself went along the Greenway. But he had heard and smelled somebody following him, and slipped behind the trees to see who it was. The Witch King was more than surprised to see Gandalf the Wizard hurrying along, apparently searching for something. The sight of the wizard stirred memories within him, memories of when he was still a king of Númenor.

_Strange, _The Witch King thought, _I lost most of my memories as a human when time went by. I am almost certain that I had met the Wizard before I became a wraith. He must be the one Saruman mentioned. But now I have no need to obtain information of the Shire. Hmm...what should I do now?_

Nevertheless, the Witch King knew that Gandalf must have knowledge of the Ring. There were few things he didn't know. He decided to go and question Gandalf. Before he could actually step out from the trees and chase after him, the desire that he had experienced while speaking to Saruman came again. He had to obtain the information from the Wizard, and had to do it by force. Fighting the desire and losing spectacularly, he caught up with Gandalf at Weathertop and attacked him at night. It was a fierce battle and brilliant light lit up the night sky like day. The Witch King had to draw upon all his knowledge of sorcery to battle the powerful Wizard, who seemed to use mainly light and fire for his spells. Both elements were a wraith's greatest weaknesses. When day came, the Witch King finally prevailed over the desire, allowed the Wizard to leave and collapsed on the ground, exhausted from the use of sorcery.

_Curse my ailment. Again it has left me incapacitated. _He had thought, _Again it had happened_, _that mad desire to find the Ring. But I was unable to resist it this time. Where did it come from? Maybe it was the influence of my ring that still lingered on me even after Sauron took them away. I remembered that I gained more power in sorcery when I put it on. But there was also that feeling of being attached to the One Ring mentally. It was always like a burden, a thorn in my mind. When the Ring was lost, it must have been my ring's power to unite with it, prompting its wearer to find it. No...I must not let it control my mind, not after I had sacrificed so much to be free of Sauron's mind control. I regret the day I ever accepted that accursed ring!_

Upon this grim revelation, the Witch King grew angry at himself mostly. But he knew he must continue on, because he again did not have a choice. It took several hours for him to recover and regroup the Nazgûl again.

At nightfall, the call of the Ring rang out the loudest. The Witch King presumed that the bearer must have put it on for some reason. This time all of the Nazgûl heard it. It came from the direction of Bree, and they wasted no time in tracking the source to a room in an inn called the Prancing Pony. Blinded by the insane urge to find the Ring as he once again lost the battle against the desire, the Witch King led the others to the room and hacked at the sleeping forms in the four beds with their swords, only to scream with frustration when they were fooled with stuffed pillows. One of Khamûl's spies had reported a halfling suddenly vanishing when in the inn and the next day was heading east. The Witch King sent four Nazgûl led by Khamûl again after the Wizard Gandalf, hoping they would succeed what he failed to do and led the rest to Weathertop. They found four halflings and a man there. One of the halflings clutched something in one hand and a short blade in the other. The next second he revealed the object in his hand. It was the One Ring! Again the Witch King lost control of himself by the extreme closeness of the Ring and sprang upon the halfling with his sword drawn. The halfling then put it on, and everything changed in the perspective of the Witch King.

He could suddenly see the halfling. He was extremely short, had curly brown hair and brilliant blue eyes. His expression was one of utter fear and horror. The Ring was glowing like a fire brand, and his sword blazed with a brilliant light.

Suddenly the halfling struck at his foot, crying out the name of Elbereth. Somewhat shocked at hearing the name of Varda, one of the queens of the legendary Valar, the Witch King's stroke went wide as he struck at the halfling. The halfling's sword sliced off a section of his cloak. Feeling the bitter coldness radiating from the blade, the Witch King immediately knew this was no ordinary weapon. It was a blade from Númenor, or more accurately, from Arnor. It was made especially to destroy the Witch King himself. He both hated it and feared it. It was a weapon made by the people of his homeland! Enraged now by the halfling's nerve to attack him, the Witch King drew his Morgul blade. It would be best to finish this quickly, turn the halfling into a wraith and snatch the Ring from him. He felt someone grab his arm as he advanced upon the halfling. He swiped at the being with his sword and the grip disappeared. The halfling tried to strike at him again, but the Witch King knocked the sword from his hands and plunged the Morgul blade into the halfling's shoulder.

The halfling screamed. It was a horrible sound. The Witch King was triumphant. He had the Ring! He was about to snatch it when a flaming torch knocked him off balance. The Witch King's cloak caught on fire and he panicked. All wraiths were afraid of fire, although it didn't really harm them. He barely managed to extinguish it with a spell and finally regained his senses.

The others were not faring well either. The man the Witch King had seen earlier was wielding a torch and a sword, facing off several Nazgûl at once. Many were already on fire and were running away.

_This could not last any longer! We must retreat for now. Confound that desire! Once again it has thrown everything into chaos._

"Retreat!" The Witch King shouted.

Like one unit the Nazgûl all left and regrouped in a distance from Weathertop where their horses were gathered. Most of the fires were extinguished, and Khamûl was extremely mad.

"The Ring was right in front of you! Why couldn't you just grab it and go?" He shouted.

"I would like to see you doing that when caught on fire." The Witch King retorted.

"What were you trying to do, Captain? You never stab anyone with one of your Morgul blades and you just did that to a halfling!" Herumor cried out.

"I saw that you went crazy every time when you saw the Ring. I had to stop you from rushing in head-on! And you attacked me!" Fuinur exclaimed.

The Witch King fell silent as he was about to argue with Khamûl. Had he actually attacked Fuinur in the middle of the chaos at Weathertop? Did he really stab a halfling with one of his deadly Morgul blades that he rarely used when he could have just taken the Ring? Why didn't the others lose control of their minds, not counting Khamûl and his followers who genuinely wanted to regain the Ring?

_My ring was the most powerful of the Nine. _He remembered, _Its influence was the strongest on me. It would be useless if I try to fight it. It is controlling my mind no matter what I do. This must not continue!_

"It doesn't matter whether the Captain got the Ring or not. The halfling was stabbed by a Morgul blade. It will not be long before he succumbs to its effects. Then we can take the Ring." Morgomir pointed out.

"More work! Why can't we just kill him and be done with it earlier?" Ji Indur complained.

"Let's go and chase him! Then we can have a new companion!" Akhorahil giggled disturbingly.

"Let us retrieve the Ring once and for all!" Gothmog exclaimed, getting on his horse.

* * *

Again the Nazgûl rode urgently towards the East. Again the Witch King was buried in his own thoughts.

_Why did I have to stab the halfling? That wasn't necessary! I allowed that mad desire for the Ring to control me again. But that halfling must had some kind of power. He dared to strike at me! Why do people fight and resist against me nowadays?_

The Witch King had sent three Nazgûl again led by Khamûl to the Last Bridge in an attempt to block the halfling and his companion's way. However, the three fled back along with a report of the elf Glorfindel guarding the bridge.

_The same elf he was, who made that memorable prophecy and defeated me in the Battle of Fornost. Glorfindel had vanished from history since then. What is the cause of his appearance today?_

"They are in sight!" Khamûl suddenly shouted, pointing ahead as they were passing through an area in the woods.

In front of the Nazgûl was the halfling riding a white horse slowly. Some others were standing around him. There was the man who had defeated them on Weathertop and the other three halflings. But another was the elf who the Witch King recognized as Glorfindel, his old enemy. They had already noticed the presence of the Nazgûl and Glorfindel shouted at the horse in elvish. The horse ran and mercilessly they gave chase, riding all the way to the Ford of Rivendell. Again the Witch King was unable to fight the desire, although it still did not stop him from trying. He could already see the halfling very clearly. Now was the opportune time to regain the Ring. The halfling crossed the shallow river quickly, turned his horse to the Nazgûl and drew his sword. At the same moment, the Witch King felt Sauron contact his mind.

_Why can't he just wait? _The Witch King thought, frustrated.

_What is going on, Witch King?_

_Now is an inconvenient moment to be asking, Sauron. _The Witch King vented his frustration on Sauron, not really considering the consequences; _The Ring is within our reach. It is in the possession of the halfling riding the white horse._

Oddly enough, Sauron did not seem upset, _And what is a halfling?_

_Why do you ask? Aren't you more concerned about your Ring? If the halfling crosses River Bruinen, we cannot give chase. The elves might do something to ward us off._

_Just go and get the Ring. Aren't you and the others impervious to almost everything?_

"Go back!" The halfling cried, brandishing the deadly blade of Númenor, "Go back to the land of Mordor and follow me no more!"

The Witch King forcefully severed the connection and turned his attention to the halfling. How dare he defy him again!

"Come back!" He shouted back, and the others took up the shout, "To Mordor we will take you!"

The halfling faltered for a minute and lowered his sword.

"The Ring. Give us the Ring!" Khamûl laughed, "Why hesitate when you are on the edge of death?"

"By Elbereth and Lúthien the Fair, you shall have neither the Ring nor me!" The halfling cried out again.

_Does this halfling only know how to fight with words? We shall see about that!_

The Witch King raised his hand and casted a minor spell of destruction. The sword broke into pieces in the halfling's hand. The Nazgûl advanced towards him across the river.

"No, Captain!" Fuinur exclaimed, "What are you doing?"

"We're on the borders of Rivendell. We cannot go further." Herumor pointed out.

"Silence! The Ring is within our grasp. It is our priority to retrieve it." The Witch King snapped.

But then a rumbling was heard. Stopping his horse, the Witch King looked towards the right and the others did the same. The sound grew louder, and suddenly a great wave swept towards them, vaguely shaped like galloping horses.

"Get out! Get out!" The Witch King shouted as he regained control of his mind. He tried to ride back to shore as fast as possible. But the wave was too swift. The next second he was swept away along with his horse, with the alarmed cries of the others echoing in his ears.

_How could I be so foolish? _He thought dimly before everything went black.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! Review please! I'll be really thankful.**


	4. An Unwillingly Fought Battle

**Here's the fourth chapter...and still not even one review. Ah well, I hope this part is more interesting. I will continue writing even if I didn't get one review just for the sake of wanting to continue. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tolkien, who if not dead, would have thousands of people lining up front of him to get him to sign their books.**

* * *

_A total failure, _the Witch King thought, _not only did we fail to regain the One Ring, but we lost our mounts and cloaks. In fact, I am surprised that we survived Sauron's wrath._

He was now back at Minas Morgul, writing the detailed events of the hunt for the Ring in his study. A huge pile of scrolls sat on the left side of his desk, which Sauron had given him upon his return. The Witch King had been annoyed that once again his master was asking him to do the work that he, the ruler of Mordor, was supposed to tend to.

The sounds of orcs grunting and swords clashing came from the outside, loud even in the study and making it hard to concentrate on his work. In fact, all of the Nazgûl were in Minas Morgul right now. Too many things had happened since they returned. It hadn't been pleasant to be swept away by a flood. It had been even worse when they felt Sauron's rage erupt like a volcano. They had to walk all the way back to Mordor on foot. The others weren't exactly pleasurable company when uncloaked. Khamûl appeared as a gloomy-looking young man with his shoulder length white hair hanging down in front of his eyes. Gothmog was a man of strong build with black hair and beard. Morgomir gave the appearance of a sallow-looking man with a thin face and greasy black hair. The others definitely didn't look at their best when they had first put on their rings. Khamûl sulked, snapped at anyone who tried to talk to him and tried to pick arguments with the Witch King on a even more regular basis. The worst part of the journey was when Herumor and Fuinur refused to speak with him. It took a grueling three weeks to travel to Mordor. Sauron had burst into one of furious tirades about how the Nazgûl never contacted him and how they failed in such an important quest. He even tortured all of them. The Witch King barely survived this and the others didn't fare better. After that Sauron sent the Nine away from Barad-dûr, cloaked again and riding flying fell beasts, and the Witch King with the stack of statistics reports. He also sent part of the army to Minas Morgul; for he announced that they shall be attacking soon. The Witch King hated those new changes. He was perfectly contented in living alone. But now with all nine Nazgûl, the army and the nine fell beasts taking up residence in Minas Morgul, the place became somewhat crowded and noisy. The Witch King had to place more spells on the door of his study to prevent others from entering and even concealed the entrance. The last thing he wanted was for Khamûl and his followers to barge in and find a reason to blackmail him. He had now just finished recording the defeat of Saruman's army at Helm's Deep. Since the encounter with Saruman while searching for the Ring, the Witch King disliked the Maia wholeheartedly.

_It served him right to get defeated. He may be a Maia who was once the head of the White Council, but he is no better than Sauron. Saruman's heart was twisted by greed for greater power. His ending would not be pleasant._

The sudden glowing of the palantír interrupted the Witch King from his thoughts. Sighing in annoyance, he headed over and placed his hands on it.

_What does Sauron want now?_

_The time has come. _Sauron's flaming eye appeared before him. _You shall lead the armies of Mordor to attack Gondor. Start with Osgiliath and then move on to Minas Tirith. Kill all who oppose you and capture both places._

_ Why me, Sauron? Surely Khamûl is a better candidate? _That was the first thing the Witch King thought of.

_ Do not suggest such a ridiculous notion! All of you had failed in finding my Ring, so I am going to try to conquer Middle-earth without it. I am giving you a chance to prove yourself worthy of being the Lord of the Nazgûl._

_ I do not deserve a chance. I had already failed._

_ Prepare to attack in three days. _Sauron ignored the Witch King's words and severed the connection.

Sighing heavily, the Witch King sat down at his desk again. He was somewhat struck by the news to attack Minas Tirith. Although he never showed it, the Witch King hated battles and tried to avoid them. Angmar was a different matter. He was forced to fight the people of Arnor to defend his newly found realm. In fact, he did know that the people of Arnor were descendents of the people of Númenor until he destroyed all of them. Eärnur too was a different matter, for at that time Sauron was asking him to find someone to fill in the last place among the Nazgûl. But now Sauron was ordering him to attack an almost defenseless city. The Witch King knew Gondor was not at its strongest right now and would certainly not withstand the assault of Mordor.

Suddenly a knock rang out on the study door.

_How did whoever is knocking find the door in the first place? I placed an illusion spell on the door to give it the appearance of a stone wall. _He thought in puzzlement as he got up to answer it.

The Witch King opened the door only to find Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur on the other side. The twins had only begun to speak to him again when Khamûl, Gothmog and Morgomir challenged them to a duel just to vent their anger. Only did the Witch King happened to pass by and threatened to fight the three with sorcery when Herumor and Fuinur finally forgive him for the events of the hunt for the Ring. He was also extremely surprised to see Eärnur along with the two, who rarely sought company with the others.

"It was easy. This place has the strongest presence of sorcery, and only you could have done that." Herumor said casually, answering the Witch King's unspoken question.

"Any news from Sauron, Captain?" Fuinur asked.

"We are to attack Minas Tirith." The Witch King said heavily.

Eärnur, who was silent, started at this news.

"No!" He exclaimed.

"Look, Eärnur. Everybody knows you were a king of Gondor. But that was a long time ago. If you do not wish to get on Sauron's bad side, you better obey him."" Fuinur pointed out.

"If you three have chosen to discuss about a sensitive topic, I suggest you to wisely come in." The Witch King said, somewhat reluctantly. He didn't want Khamûl walking past to hear their conversation. As for the secret of his study, he decided to trust the three.

"I never knew you collected ancient tomes, Captain. May I ask what they contain?" Herumor exclaimed as he stepped in.

"Never you mind." The Witch King said shortly. He still didn't want anyone to find out the content of his books. "Please sit down."

As the three sat down at the chairs in front of the desk, the Witch King immediately explained in detail what Sauron wanted them to do. Herumor and Fuinur looked shocked at this while Eärnur looked devastated.

"Minas Tirith would never survive. Gondor would be destroyed!" Fuinur realized.

"But we do not have a choice, do we?" Herumor said plainly.

"Is there a way to avoid this battle?" Eärnur spoke again.

"I see no other way, Eärnur. I am sure you three are loath to receive another one of Sauron's punishments, am I correct?" The Witch King asked.

All three Nazgûl shuddered.

"But I cannot turn my sword against those of Gondor!" Eärnur shouted, standing up, "It is one of the worst forms of betrayal! It was bad enough being a Nazgûl, but this is worse. Sauron has gone over the line!"

_This is probably the most words I had ever heard Eärnur utter. But he is right; I cannot force a Gondorian to kill those from his own country. Hmm…I wonder if anything could be done. _The Witch King thought.

"Eärnur! You cannot disobey Sauron in something as major as this!" Herumor said, shocked,"Look what happed to the Captain when he shut himself in at Minas Morgul!"

The Witch King winced. He hated when he was constantly reminded of that particular incident.

"There may be a way." He said slowly.

"Captain!" Fuinur exclaimed.

_Who says we shall be killing the enemy? Fighting is not my desire, neither is it Eärnur's. I am tired of being Sauron's slave! Maybe we could somehow help the Gondorians._

"I had defied Sauron once, and I will do it again. I paid the price dearly. But I had had enough!" The Witch King said firmly.

"But…" Fuinur started.

"You cannot convince him out of it, Fuinur. We will help you the best we could." Herumor said.

"The others must not know what we are about to do." Eärnur pointed out.

"But what are we about to do?" The Witch King asked.

* * *

For three days the Witch King tried to think of a plan. There was no avoiding this battle, so he would have to compromise for some while. Herumor had suggested bringing only half of the army so Minas Tirith would have a better chance. But Eärnur pointed out that Sauron would immediately notice something was wrong. Fuinur thought they could, in the confusion of the battle, to cut down some of the orcs, Easterlings and the Haradrim. But it was too risky in the Witch King's opinion. The Gondorians were bound to notice that something wasn't right. In the end it was Eärnur's idea to attack with arrows and darts from the skies with their flying fell beasts. It was still very risky, along with the problem of their inexperience with the darts. If the people of Gondor didn't notice, Khamûl and others will. On the day of battle, the Witch King led almost the entire force of Mordor toward Osgiliath first. The strategy was simple: To kill all the Gondorian soldiers there and take over the place. The Witch King, Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur was forced to participate in the following battle against the Gondorians stationed there because there wasn't enough room for the fell beasts, although Eärnur didn't fight at all. In the chaos, the Witch King had accidentally shot a man whom he thought to be the captain with a dart while aiming at an orc. Khamûl, Gothmog and Morgomir slaughtered the soldiers such relish that it made the Witch King shudder. By the end of the day, Osgiliath fell. All the soldiers were dead, and only a few soldiers from Mordor killed. The Witch King could feel Sauron watching the battle carefully. He wouldn't find anything suspicious though. For good measure, the Witch King even led the Eight to pursue the remaining Gondorians including the injured captain fleeing towards Minas Tirith. But to his surprise, Gandalf rode out and drove them all away with a bright light shining from his staff. He was somewhat different since the Witch King last saw him, and seemed to be more powerful too.

The next day he led the armies of Mordor across the river to cross the Pelennor Fields. Minas Tirith, the White City, stood on the other side. It was built level by level in white stone circles. A great spur of rock jutted out from the center with the White Tower resting on top. The top of houses could be seen, including the White Tower. The symbol of Gondor, a white tree without leaves, could be also seen in front of the tower. Flags flew from every tower bearing the symbol. It was a magnificent city, worthy of its name. The Witch King became even angrier at Sauron for ordering him to destroy such a proud and ancient structure. He could already see the Gondorian army preparing for battle within the walls from his fell beast. It was pitifully small, and the Witch King knew for sure that they would never stand against the might of Mordor unless someone came to their aid. Nevertheless, he ordered the army to attack. They brought out catapults and such and began firing at Minas Tirith. The Witch King signaled, and the others rose to air along with their fell beasts. Khamûl, Gothmog, Morgomir, Akhorahil and Ji Indur all flew towards the city, destroying their catapults and killing many soldiers. Meanwhile unnoticed, Eärnur drew his bow and hit some of the orcs operating the catapults. Herumor and Fuinur did the same. The Witch King also drew his bow and secretly shot down a leader of the Easterlings. For this plan they had especially gathered some Gondorian arrows so whoever found the bodies wouldn't become suspicious. Everything was going quite well. The Gondorians were still shooting down many of the army of Mordor's catapults and lots of them had come out to fight. They slew many of the orcs, Easterlings and the Haradrim along with the Witch King, Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur's help. But Khamûl and the others were wrecking havoc among the Gondorians, causing terror and confusion among them. The Witch King was running out of arrows, but he continued to shoot. He didn't want to use the darts, for he was likely to miss. He realized there was a flaw to this plan.

_If we run out of arrows, what do we do next? Land and search the bodies for more? I fear this would not work out quite as well as we had planned…_

"Captain! I had run out of arrows! What next?" Fuinur shouted from his fell beast.

"I did not predict this minor inconvenience." The Witch King replied honestly while nocking his last arrow.

"Minor? Major, most likely," Herumor scoffed as he tossed away his bow and empty quiver, "Maybe we should just carry out what Fuinur suggested earlier and fight on the ground instead."

"I am sorry, Captain. I forgot this would happen." Eärnur apologized.

Suddenly the Witch King felt Sauron contacting his mind just as he fired his last arrow to hit a Haradrim about to cut down a Gondorian soldier.

_Confound it! Not now!_

_ What are you doing, Witch King? Did I just see you shoot at one from my own army? _Sauron's tone was threatening.

_I missed the Gondorian soldier. _That was the best excuse the Witch King could think of.

_Then why didn't you do what Khamûl and the others are doing? Flying among the Gondorians and spreading terror among them. Are Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur in league with your schemes? Are you trying to allow Gondor to win the battle?_

The Witch King flinched. He should have been more careful, and now he and the others were about the pay the price. He had to somehow lead Sauron's attention away from Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur. He knew there was no denying now and was very angry.

_I had had enough of YOUR schemes, Sauron. You have no heart for the people of Middle-earth! For the land of Middle-earth! How could you order a mass slaughter of the people of Gondor! Look what you did with Númenor, and I am not about to allow the same thing to happen to Gondor. The entire island was destroyed! I have no right to obey you, and I can help the Gondorians as I please!_

To the Witch King's surprise, when Sauron spoke again, his tone was almost wistful. Almost sorry.

_It was not my idea to destroy Númenor..._

But it changed just as quickly.

_But you, Witch King, also have no right to disobey me. I thought you learned your lesson when you locked yourself up at Minas Morgul, but now it seems you have not. You are in no position to help the enemy as my servant. You shall pay for this, Witch King. You shall pay for this very dearly._

An intense pain filled the Witch King's head. He cried out and dropped his bow. Everything seemed to spin, and then blackness claimed him.

* * *

Darkness. Utter darkness with no light.

He was floating in it.

There was no sound, no smell, and nothing to see.

_Am I dead? Where exactly am I? _He thought dimly.

The darkness seemed to shift slowly, and then swirled away in a high speed.

The Witch King came back to consciousness sitting on the ground. No longer was he on the fell beast flying over Minas Tirith. In fact, the entire city was gone. There were no sounds of battle, only the peaceful roar of the ocean.

_The ocean? The only place where it is heard..._

He stood up, took a good look around him and stepped back in surprise. The darkness had given way to show the old realm of Númenor in its former glory. Houses and buildings built of stone lined neatly the dirt roads. The ocean lay not far away, with several large sailing ships bobbing gently in the waves. The sky was a brilliant blue with a few wisps of clouds floating lazily along it. The strange thing was, there was nobody around. There were no sounds of activity that showed that people lived here. The royal palace in a distance lay in ruins.

_I am back in Númenor? What just happened? I only remember Sauron speaking with me, an intense pain in my head and then I was here. What is going on?_

Even though the Witch King thought the whole thing was strange, he was quite elated. To be back at Númenor again when it has been gone so long!

_I thought Númenor was destroyed completely. Then why is it still intact as I see it before me? The palace is in ruins while the other buildings are intact. Something is not quite right._

As he thought, the sky began to turn red. Alarmed, the Witch King stood up. He could smell the putrid odor of sulfur. Recognizing the smell, he became even more alarmed. It was the constant smell of Mordor. He suddenly heard the clanking of metal clad feet coming towards him. A tall armored figure walked into view. The Witch King knew this figure too well. He drew his sword.

"Sauron, what are you doing here?" He said calmly.

"Don't you know?" Sauron answered shortly.

"This is Númenor." The Witch King said slowly, not letting his guard down.

"Not exactly. This is what your inner world looks like. To be honest, I am not surprised to find it as Númenor."

"Inner world? Then we're inside my mind. You possessed me!" The Witch King realized quickly.

* * *

Herumor watched in shock as the Captain seemed fall limp for awhile, and then suddenly steered his fell beast towards Minas Tirith. The fell beast snatched up numerous Gondorian soldiers and dropped them. They screamed as they fell to their deaths. The Captain even casted numerous spells, destroying parts of the city and blowing up the soldiers.

"Captain! That's not the…"

"Silence, Herumor!" Eärnur yelled, "Possessed, he is, probably by Sauron! We cannot let him know of our plan!"

"What do we do now?" Fuinur shouted as Khamûl and the others followed the Captain's example and were soon killing soldiers in this horrible way.

"We must back off for the duration of the battle. It is our best hope." Herumor called as he began to guide his beast away from the battle.

"Herumor! We have to stop him! Minas Tirith will lose the battle!" Eärnur exclaimed.

"We cannot, Eärnur!" Fuinur realized, "He will turn on us! We cannot hope to restrain the Captain, for he is too powerful for us to handle now. The only thing we could do is to wait and see."

* * *

"It is necessary, Witch King. If I let you carry out the battle in your own way, Mordor would have suffered a defeat." Sauron explained while swinging his mace around idly.

In a flash, the Witch King suddenly saw the vision of a man wielding a sword that glowed with a bright light, an elf with bow and arrows and a dwarf wielding an ax leading a vast army, cutting down all the forces of Mordor down. He knew immediately that today's battle will be lost no matter how hard Sauron tried to turn the events by possessing him. The Witch King was somewhat relieved. But he did not want to be possessed after the events of the hunt for the Ring. Who was Sauron to mess with his mind as he pleased?

The Witch King swung his sword towards Sauron, who deflected it easily. Quickly he pulled it away and struck again, only to be met by Sauron's mace almost twisting the sword out of his grip.

"You move too slowly, Witch King. I thought you improved in these past hundred years." Sauron taunted.

"I will defeat you and drive you away from my mind!" The Witch King shouted. From the sky he could see what he was doing outside of his mind right now, and it angered him.

"I hardly see that possible, since you cannot even land a hit on me." Sauron said, swinging his mace.

The Witch King dodged in time and slashed at his currently exposed left arm. Although it connected, the sword bounced off his gauntlet with a clang. Dismayed, he struck at Sauron's right hand, trying to disarm him. But Sauron caught his sword arm and threw him directly towards a house. The Witch King's vision flashed white as he hit, the building falling down into a pile of rubble. Painfully he got up, and rushed at Sauron again, who easily step sided and sent him sprawling again with a flick of his weapon. Stunned, the Witch King didn't get up right away.

_I need a new strategy! _The Witch King thought quickly. _I cannot fight him by force. His armor deflects all attacks. Sauron is also immune to sorcery. What shall I do now…_

Sauron's mace swung down towards his head. He rolled away and responded by a vicious kick. Sauron staggered for a second, and the Witch King took the chance to quickly knock his mace away.

"Not bad, Witch King. Not bad at all. Maybe I underestimated you." Sauron commented, drawing his long broadsword.

* * *

On the outside, the battering ram Grond was brought out. Trolls hauled the massive tool as the army of Mordor chanted the name. Destructive spells were laid on the battering ram, and it was made especially to break down the _mithril_ doors of Minas Tirith. The Witch King rode a black horse up to the gate. Raising a hand, he shouted the spell of major destruction as the trolls swung Grond. Two times it hit the gate, and on the third, it crumbled into pieces. But the space beyond it wasn't abandoned. Gandalf, the White Wizard, sat atop of his white horse, defying the Witch King entrance to the city. But he only laughed. What a fool! Does he think he alone can actually stop him?

"You cannot enter here!" Gandalf cried, raising his staff, "Go back to the abyss prepared for you! Go back! Fall into the nothingness that awaits you and your Master! Go!"

"Old fool! This is my hour. Do you not know Death when you see it? Die now and curse in vain!" The Witch King snarled and drew his sword. It burst into brilliant orange flames. He swung to strike at the Wizard, who drew his own sword to meet the attack. But the call of a rooster sounded out in a distance. Morning came, and horns blew. Along the dawn came new hope. The Rohirrim had come at last to Gondor's aid.

* * *

"Stop, Sauron!" The Witch King shouted, parrying another blow from Sauron, "Do not attack the Wizard! I had wronged him already! Cease casting spells, for they take their toll on me instead of you."

"What do I care?" Sauron laughed without humor, "He is only another obstacle to be removed along with you, a wraith who never learns his lesson."

"Get out of my mind, and give the control of my body back!"

"Not before you agree to stop your futile efforts to help the enemy. I ought to have you punished severely for this act of betrayal."

"Did you not listen to the words that you spoke through me? Do you not know how true they may be?" The Witch King realized that he thought along the exact same lines before, "'This is my hour' indeed!"

"I say what I please." Sauron retorted.

_The prophecy of Glorfindel. Will it be fulfilled today in this battle?_

The Witch King casted a binding spell unexpectedly. Golden ropes materialized and wrapped themselves around Sauron. But he broke them as easily as they were made of charred flax. A powerful spell of thunder was unleashed next, which exploded on contact in a shower of sparks as it hit Sauron. But he emerged from the smoke unfazed, and attacked the Witch King again. Backing off, he summoned high waves of water, strong gusts of wind and solid columns of earth to assail his opponent relentlessly. But nothing seemed to work.

"You should have learned your lesson already, Witch King. I am impervious to the feeble sorcery of a mere wraith." Sauron declared as he dispelled another thunder spell, "I will wait until you spend yourself."

The Witch King was doubled up, leaning on his sword as he breathed hard. His ailment was beginning to take its high toll of fatigue. The spells Sauron made him cast on the outside had already wore him out, along with the major spell of destruction used to shatter the gates of Minas Tirith. He saw Sauron swing his sword, just like he did several hundred years ago when they fought at Minas Morgul.

* * *

Éowyn, the shieldmaiden of Rohan, urged her horse onwards. She was currently riding along with the Rohirrim, under the disguise as Dernhelm the soldier. The beacons of Gondor were lit only a few days ago. Ever since the forces of Rohan had been riding towards Minas Tirith as fast as they could. Her emotions were mixed. She was pleased to fight the enemies along with the men. Finally she could be temporarily free from her cage! But despair also clung at her. Lord Aragorn, the man whom she secretly admired, had gone done to the Paths of the Dead. Éowyn knew nobody came out of there alive, and she doubted he would either. She was also worried for the halfling Merry, who sat in behind her on the same horse. Was it a wise decision to take him along? She was also worried for her brother Éomer, and mostly King Théoden, whom she loved like a father. It was too easy to be slain in battle.

The horns suddenly sounded out as day came. They had arrived in Minas Tirith! Éowyn could already hear the sounds of battle. The putrid smell of burning vegetation rose from the Pelennor Fields. The city was in a sorry state. Fires burned from within and it seemed to be almost deserted. Chunks of the White City were taken out. All the Gondorian soldiers were out fighting. They were hopelessly outnumbered. But at the sound of the horn they looked and saw the Rohirrim. An elated cheer rose from the soldiers. King Théoden turned his horse to face the Rohirrim and cried out in a loud voice,

"Arise, arise! Riders of Théoden!

Fell deeds awake; fire and slaughter!

spear shall be shaken, shield be splintered.

A sword-day, a red day, ere the sun rises!

Ride now, ride now! Ride to Gondor!"

The Rohirrim sang along with King Théoden. Their song declared a new hope. Hope of winning the battle. Éowyn joined in enthusiastically. The king seized a horn and blew it loudly, and the others echoed him. The sound of horns rang out clearly through the air.

"Ride now! Ride to Gondor!" Everyone shouted.

King Théoden urged his horse into a run with his knights following him. The flags they held bore the symbol of a white horse running on a green back ground. Fearlessly they charged into the ranks of Mordor. Éowyn drew her sword and Merry his blade of the Westernesse. The enemy scattered at the front as many were slain by the advancing Rohirrim's spears. King Théoden himself slew the leader of the Haradrim with his spear, which broke in his hand. Éowyn swung at Easterlings who suddenly appeared, and Merry stabbed one. Éomer also felled many single handedly. They drove back the enemy, and they continued to ride across the Pelennor fields. Many of the enemy fell dead. It seemed like they were probably going to win.

But suddenly the sky darkened and the flapping of wings were heard. Unearthly screams rent the battlefield and Éowyn looked up. Above them wheeled the dreaded Ringwraiths riding winged fell beasts, the terrible servants of the Dark Lord. At that sight every man and beast began to panic. The Rohirrim scattered as their horses tried to flee the oncoming terror. But Éowyn saw King Théoden, the only one who didn't flee. All his knights were dead, but he still raised his sword to defy the Ringwraiths.

"To me! To me! Up Eorlingas! Fear no darkness!" He shouted.

Éowyn saw one of them flying towards him.

"Théoden King! Get away, quickly!" She tried to shout. But the sudden terror froze her voice.

"King Théoden!" Merry yelled.

A dart flew from the descending Ringwraith. It hit his horse Snowmane, who gave a shrill neigh and fell on its side. King Théoden fell and was crushed beneath his horse.

"Uncle!" Éowyn finally screamed out.

_Please! He cannot die like this!_

Her terrified horse could take no more. Éowyn and Merry were thrown off when the horse gave a wild buckle and ran away. She painfully got up and recovered her sword and shield while Merry ran towards King Théoden. The Ringwraith had already landed with his fell beast, and was advancing towards where King Théoden fell. He was a tall and terrible figure, cloaked in all black. He wore a helm that curved into a single spike on the top with a circle of small spikes that encircled the head. In one hand he held a drawn sword and in the other a mace with gauntleted hands. The eyes beneath his helm seemed to gleam a malevolent red.

"Begone, foul dwimmerlaik, lord of carrion! Leave the dead in peace!" Éowyn shouted, pointing her sword towards the Ringwraith.

"Do not come between the Nazgûl and his prey, or he will not slay you in turn." His voice was cold, chilling her to the bone.

"Do what you will; but I will hinder it, if I may!" Éowyn swung her sword in an attacking position.

"Hinder me? You fool! How can you stand up against the Witch King of Angmar himself? No man can hinder me, let alone you!" The Ringwraith hissed.

Despite the terror, despair and panic she felt right now, Éowyn laughed at the irony of his words. She took off her helm and threw it away.

"Look here!" She cried, "No living man am I! I am a woman. Éowyn I am, daughter of Éomund. You stand between me and my lord and my kin. Begone, if you are indeed deathless! I will smite you, if you touch him! "

_I will avenge you, Théoden King!_

The Ringwraith said nothing while his beast screeched at her and lunged. Skillfully she avoided it and hacked off its head with two strokes from her sword. The beast fell dead into a heap, but the Ringwraith emerged again and swung at her with his mace. Éowyn felt the wind pass by where her head had previously been as she dodged again. Just as quickly his sword slashed towards her left. She blocked it with her shield and stabbed with her sword blindly towards the Ringwraith. But he parried it with his own, knocked the sword out of her hands and struck again with his mace. Éowyn tried to block it, but the mace broke her shield along with her arm with a sharp crack. She cried out in pain and fell to the ground on her knees. The Ringwraith positioned his sword to strike the final blow.

_This is the end. I am sorry, Uncle. I should have never gone to face the Ringwraith…_

* * *

"No, you would not have the upper hand, Sauron!"

For the first time in thousands of years, the Witch King felt true terror. Right now as he faced Sauron about to be defeated, Glorfindel's prophecy rang again and again through his mind. He saw himself strike down the king of Rohan and was now facing a shieldmaiden who had been disguised as a Rider of Rohan. The Witch King was terrified when she revealed herself as Éowyn. Although he had lived for thousands of years and was weary of life, he still clung to it. He had been through countless sufferings and pain that shaped him as the character as he was today. The Witch King desired to live to see Sauron defeated at last and Mordor fall. He had kept records of the history of Middle-earth more than five thousand years. Now he was about to face possible death, he grew even more desperate to defeat his opponent.

_No...I cannot die like this! Not with Sauron still alive inside my mind. At least I must drive him out first! But i__f __I __were to perish,__ I would be taking him with me!_

The Witch King summoned his remaining strength and struck at Sauron repeatedly as hard as he could. The first strike knocked away the sword that was about to descend on his head. The second strike knocked Sauron off balance, although he recovered quickly. The Witch King continued to strike in a frenzy, shouting as he did so.

"Have you ever heard of the prophecy of Glorfindel? I presume not, for you care nothing about your slaves! 'Far of yet is his doom,' he said, 'yet he would not fall by the hand of man!' Look who stands before me: A shieldmaiden of Rohan, a seemly weak opponent. Have you been planning my demise since that incident hundreds of years ago? Look what you did with the king of Rohan! Surely this girl is the king's relative! Now her hate is aroused and she is bent on seeking revenge. Surely you do not mind losing one of your slaves, when each could be so easily replaced? What do you have to say for yourself, Sauron? Answer me!"

Surprisingly Sauron said nothing as he continued to defend himself from the Witch King's blows.

"Now for the last time, get out of my mind!" The Witch King yelled.

But an expected pain burned though his left leg and he cried out bitterly. It was like somebody had struck him with an icy cold knife. He recognized the feeling and looked toward the sky. The halfling he noticed earlier riding with the shieldmaiden called Éowyn had crept up behind him unnoticed and stabbed him in the knee with a blade of Númenor. His blade that was about to descend on the shieldmaiden sheared away to one side and missed.

_No! I cannot allow myself to fade__ now__! Not after so many years...__.__.__I must...__._

Sauron stood there watching, making no move to attack. But driven by anger and pain, the Witch King used his last strength and sprang towards him. He raised a hand, and a massive fireball emerged and flew towards Sauron. It hit with a colossal explosion, knocking Sauron all the way towards the sea. Not even wondering how he casted that fire spell, the Witch King aimed his sword and stabbed as hard as he could at Sauron before he recovered. The weapon slid beneath the plates of his opponent's chest armor and impaled him completely, the blade coming out of his back. For a moment Sauron stood there frozen, and then disappeared with a blast of black smoke that obliterated the already ruined buildings around.

The Witch King had no time to celebrate his victory. The buildings of Númenor started to crumble into ruin around him and sea was strangely drying up. The wound from the deadly blade burned colder than ever, and the Witch King could already feel himself slipping away. Everything faded into darkness again.

* * *

The world came back to him, and the sounds of battle were heard. The Witch King was kneeling on the ground, using his sword to support himself. Éowyn was still standing and holding her broken arm, her face an expression of pain. The halfling was sprawled in some distance, his blade shriveled into nothingness. The Witch King couldn't see clearly, and blackness started to creep across his vision.

_I am dying… _He realized.

"Captain!" He heard Herumor and Fuinur cry out in despair.

The Witch King's thoughts were in turmoil. He was wondering when he perished, what would happen to the rest of the Nazgûl. How would Sauron react? What would happen after he was gone? Why did Glorfindel's prophecy have a habit of coming true? Why Sauron sent him to lead this battle? Maybe it was for the best. He had caused enough grief in Middle-earth. If he was gone, Sauron won't use him to harm more people anymore. Perhaps the various races will never be ruled by Sauron.

_Then I am willing to make this sacrifice._

Éowyn had picked up her sword. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion. The Witch King felt Sauron contacting his mind again and the now familiar pain in his head.

_He is attempting to possess me again. Maybe I can trap him in my mind..._

The girl's sword hung limply from her hands. She was struggling to remain standing.

_Time is running out for me. I do not have a choice now. My strength is failing me. What I am about to do is not a shame…_

"Kill me." The Witch King said quietly.

Éowyn gave a little start. Her sword almost dropped to the ground.

"I thought...you..." She managed to say faintly.

He could already vaguely see the crumbling realm of Númenor again. The sky was no longer blue, but turning black. The figure of Sauron was there again, but he was dodging the falling debris. He seemed to see the Witch King and stretched out a hand.

"Do it now." He said with more force. He was been drawn in again as Númenor became clearer.

The Witch King suddenly lunged and grabbed the shieldmaiden's shoulder, at the same time when her blade, driven off course, pierced his chest. He met the look of the pained shieldmaiden steadily. She held an expression of confusion, but that determination was still there. Even now that the Witch King was fading, he cannot help but wonder about it. Heroic men had quailed with terror before him, yet here was one lone shieldmaiden who openly challenged him...and succeeded.

Strangely he felt nothing from that fatal sword wound, only the relief. Sauron no longer tried to contact him. Maybe he was trapped after all. Maybe he will never regain the Ring again and rule Middle-earth.

"You have my thanks..." The last words he spoke were hardly heard.

_...I presume...this is the end now..._

Éowyn's sword broke into many shards. But the Witch King had already lost the strength to keep his form. Now formless he was blown along with the wind, but he could still see, although he couldn't feel himself as a being at all. He saw himself shrivel up and collapse to the ground, now only a pile of robes and armor. He saw the shieldmaiden also collapse, overcome finally by the pain. As he was blown along with the wind, memories came unbidden back to his mind.

He remembered Númenor, a realm that belonged to Eru Ilúvatar. Who was Eru Ilúvatar? He couldn't remember. He remembered when he ruled in Númenor as a king with great power who excelled in sorcery. He remembered the day when Sauron came with the greatest of the nine rings, and how he accepted it without question despite the protests and warnings of his advisors. He remembered, most of all, how people who had being evil during their lifetime was judged in the Hall of Mandos and was cast into the Void. How horrible stories were told what happened to them and how the fallen Vala Melkor himself was thrown in there. Who was Melkor anyway? The name sounds familiar.

_I am going to the Void, _The Witch King realized, _I shouldn't have accepted the ring. It was the worst choice I had ever made. Now I will pay for it. Why did Sauron give me the ring? He particularly sent me to the Void! I had a quiet and peaceful life, and he ruined it all. It is not fair! I will never forgive him for this!_

"You will pay for this, Sauron!" He shouted. But his voice was not to be heard. He tried fighting against the wind, but he was only a departed spirit, helpless to do anything.

The wind continued to bear him towards the West.

Towards the Hall of Mandos.

Towards judgment.

Towards eternal darkness and suffering.

* * *

**Review please! It helps with my inspiration and I can update faster.**


	5. Something Amiss

**I'm sorry for the long delay. As school starts and my mom's classes start, I'm finding less and less time to work on this story. My inspiration also isn't helping since it came less often. The next update may have to wait for awhile. Meanwhile, enjoy this chapter!**

**I also thank Caunedhiel, Lady Demiya, and Juu50x very much for reviewing.**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing of LOTR, which belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, who should have named all nine Nazgûl and that would have saved me a lot of trouble.**

* * *

Terror.

_A very interesting emotion. _Sauron thought while he surveyed his gathering army from the top of Barad-dûr, just beside his flaming eye. He had felt the Witch King's terror when he saw that shieldmaiden of Rohan. It had been so intense that Sauron was unable to move for a few seconds.

He hadn't felt terror for years since Master Melkor had been taken away. There was nothing to be afraid of. Unless one counted Sauron's worry for his One Ring and the worry that one day his servants would fail him, and he would be defeated. Sauron didn't trust Khamûl and his followers at all and detested the Mouth. The Mouth of Sauron was a pathetic and mindless servant who only gained such a high position because of his cunning. But that was a long time ago.

Sauron felt unrest since the Nine had set out to find his Ring, and had been even more disturbed when they came back uncloaked and defeated. He saw the halfling carrying the Ring several times during the Nine's search and knew that the Ring was used by the halfling. Later he heard report from his spies that the balrog in the Mines of Moria was slain. Saruman, whom Sauron distrusted now without doubt, had sent his Uruk-hai army to attack Helm's Deep where the people of Rohan were sheltered and was defeated. His entire army was killed and not even one Uruk-hai was left. Then there was another day as Sauron was using his palantír to give Saruman a sound tongue lashing when he saw a halfling to his utmost surprise. He had guessed that this was the halfling that had his Ring, and tried to force his identity and location out of him. Not only did the halfling resist him, but Sauron accidentally let slip his plan to attack Minas Tirith in his shock. A few days after that came an event even more troublesome. Again Sauron was using his palantír and fighting a mental battle with Denethor, the Steward of Gondor. He had been interrupted by a man holding a sword in his vision. The man had shoulder length brown hair, short beard and blue eyes. The sword he held in his hand glowed with a brilliant light. The man said he was Aragorn, the heir of Isildur and was holding the shards of Narsil reforged. With those words, Sauron had seen the Battle of the Last Alliance again. Again he was holding his mace to strike Isildur, who had in the last minute sliced at his hand with his father's broken sword. Again he felt the agony as his middle finger was separated from his hand, the finger with the One Ring on it…

Sauron shook his head. His thoughts were becoming more troublesome day by day.

_I do believe that man is the heir of Isildur, _He thought, _He has his likeness, and I remember the sword Narsil too well._

_ Why did I interfere with the Witch King during the Battle of the Pelennor fields? Perhaps he wouldn't have perished. Now is the worst time to lose one of my most trusted servants. He betrayed me! I knew he was never faithful to me since Númenor, but I did not know he had the nerve to do that. He was obedient, although I could sense it was reluctant. The Witch King never really argued with me in the past, although he irritated me sometimes. Even if the Witch King still lived, Mordor would have lost, with that heir of Isildur bringing in the army of the dead. Hmph...I can find no one to give all those statistics reports to now that he is dead._

_ Who will replace the Witch King's position as Lord of the Nazgûl? Definitely not Khamûl. The first thing he did upon returning was to ask if he could fill in that position._

Sauron was now puzzling about the position of the Lord of the Nazgûl. There was no one worthy of that position in his opinion. Khamûl was too unreliable and tended to cause dispute among the Nine. Previously, there was no one he trusted more than the Witch King.

_I trusted him to carry out my commands. He did so without complaint in the past and did it willingly. But now I asked him to search for my Ring, and he said how did that concern him? I commanded him to attack Gondor, and he told me to send Khamûl instead. I thought he didn't have the nerve to disobey me, let along betray. But why? After all those years of being so trustworthy? Was that only a false impression he was trying to make on me? Didn't the Witch King realize how important the battle against Gondor was? He particularly forced me to possess him, which took most of my energy! And that wasn't the worst! He defeated me by fire sorcery! I thought the Nine were afraid of fire, and therefore the Witch King shouldn't be able to use it. He tried to trap me in his mind by his dying breath. I barely escaped the crumbling wrecks of it._

Footsteps were heard behind Sauron, clanking forlornly on the black obsidian that formed the tower. He turned around and faced the being, who was revealed to be none than Khamûl himself. Sauron felt a stab of irritation again.

"My Lord, have you finished contemplating about the candidate for the position of Lord of the Nazgûl?" Khamûl said in his low voice and bowed, "We need a leader to follow and to guide us….."

"I do not want you pestering me about this matter again, Khamûl." Sauron interrupted, "I do not find you trustworthy, and therefore the Nine shall remain leaderless."

Khamûl was no fool. He could sense that Sauron was not pleased at all. But he took his chances.

"Then who do you have in mind?"

"That will be none of your concern. Now get out of here before I lose my temper!" Sauron suddenly shouted and drew his sword.

Khamûl jumped back a step and backed away towards the stairway.

"I apologize for disturbing you, my Lord. I shall leave you to your thoughts." He said hurriedly and fled.

"Fortunately you know well enough to do that." Sauron said softly and returned his sword to its scabbard. He returned in looking out towards the land of Mordor.

_Pestering minions._

For some strange reason Sauron felt quite pleased in terrifying away Khamûl. Although that Easterling was faithful to him, he did so in terror. Morgomir was worse. He tried to do anything that might please Sauron for his own benefit. But the worst was the Mouth, who groveled and begged when Sauron was angry. He schemed and whispered shrewd suggestions while Sauron was planning for something. He sulked and cursed when the free peoples of Middle-earth again had a victory. Never will Sauron let Khamûl or the Mouth become Lord of the Nazgûl.

Again there was the call of his Ring. Sauron could now sense it frequently, although not as keenly as the Nine. He could live without it. He could conquer Middle-earth with his vast army. But it would be easier if he had the Ring with him. As long as the Ring was intact, Sauron would endure. But if it were destroyed…

Sauron again shook himself out of those disturbing thoughts.

_Really, if I go on thinking like this, it might be the end of me. No one can resist the power of my Ring for long, and soon the halfling will succumb to it. But I feel that it is somewhere near. Where then will it be? I am feeling extremely disturbed right now. Something isn't right. Something is amiss._

There was a sound of rushing air and darkness gathered into a column behind Sauron. He turned around again, now very irritated in been disturbed twice in a row. The darkness cleared away, revealing the distorted figure of the Mouth of Sauron.

_Always using fancy pieces of sorcery just for transportation…_

"My Lord, I have news!" The Mouth bowed so low that his head knocked against his knees.

"How dare you disturb me?" Sauron roared.

The Mouth gave a terrified squeak and fell groveling at Sauron's feet.

"Please do not be angry, my Lord. Your worthless servant does not know that you do not wished to be disturbed. You are free to administer any punishment on this detestable worm, my Lord…" He gabbled frantically.

"Cease your meaningless speech," Sauron said, disgusted. He gave the Mouth a hard kick in his side. He gave a whimper and managed to stand up again.

"What is the news you bring?"

"My Lord, the orcs at Cirith Ungol had captured a halfling near Shelob's Lair. He was probably a spy from the enemy." The Mouth spoke quickly, trying to hide the pain.

_Hold on. The halfling may be the one carrying my Ring. Is this a coincidence? _Sauron suddenly thought.

"Does this halfling have the Ring in his possession?" Sauron asked, now eager.

"I am truly sorry to say that he does not, my Lord. But a coat of _mithril_ was found on the halfling." The Mouth added, producing a glittering chainmail coat from a bag he carried.

"I have no use for that." Sauron was now very annoyed and wished the Mouth would just leave, "You are positive that he does not have the Ring?"

"Nothing else of value was found on him."

A shout then ran out expectedly from the direction of the Black Gate. Sauron finally turned his attention to the source of the voice.

"Come forth! Let the Lord of the Black Land come forth! Justice shall be done upon him. For wrongfully he has made war upon Gondor and wrested its lands. Therefore the King of Gondor demands that he should atone for his evils, and depart then forever. Come forth!"

The one shouting was no other than the heir of Isildur himself, Aragorn. Behind him were the gathered armies of Gondor and Rohan. There were two other commanders standing side by side with Aragorn. One was probably a marshal of Rohan and another a captain of Gondor. Sauron laughed. Did they actually think they could actually defeat him with such a feeble army? They were all worn out during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields.

_They better not be hoping that I would come out myself. Even that will cause panic among my own army. What do they hope to achieve by attacking me directly? Surely they know that they cannot win? Unless they are trying to draw my attention away… no, that can't be it. Draw my attention away from what?_

"It seems like we must face this unexpected obstacle first. Muster my forces and march out to meet them. Take also the chainmail and go out to them. Tell them that we have caught one of their spies and in order to release him, they must surrender themselves to me." Sauron ordered.

"But I cannot get there fast enough, my Lord." The Mouth was reluctant.

"Then how did you get here?" Sauron said dangerously.

The Mouth gulped and quickly vanished in the same column of swirling darkness. Sauron turned his attention to his eye and focused it on the gathered army on the outside. He noticed a fourth leader that he didn't see earlier. The leader was an old man with long snow white beard and hair wearing robes of the purest white and carrying a staff. Sauron recognized him as Olórin the Maia, known more commonly as Gandalf the Grey.

_What is Olórin doing here? _Sauron thought, confused, _I knew sometime in the Third Age that the Valar sent five Maia to help the people of Middle-earth. Olórin was probably the only one who did his job. But I hadn't seen him for at least a few hundred years. What is the cause of his appearance today? His power seemed to have grown stronger._

Sauron then contacted the mind of Khamûl. He preferred using the palantír, which required less of his power. The act of contacting the Witch King's mind during the search for the Ring, the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and the act of possessing him had taken much out from Sauron's power. He realized that he needed his Ring soon or Mordor will fall into ruin, for the desolate land was maintained with his power. He also realized that he had to temporarily put Khamûl in charge of the Nazgûl.

_Khamûl, gather the others and attack the gathered armies of the West at the Black Gate. You must kill all of them. Keep a watch also for the Ring. They may also have it in their possession._

_Yes, my Lord. We will wipe them out. None will escape alive._

_I expect you to be true to your word._

Far off towards the Black Gate Sauron could already see the Eight circling in the sky on their fell beasts. The Mouth was on his horse and speaking to Aragorn, no doubt telling them about the conditions of surrender. But Olórin then shouted something, rode up to the Mouth and seized the chainmail away.

_So they refuse to accept my generous terms of surrender. _Sauron thought angrily. _Never mind that then. That would have been too easy of a victory._

It was generous in his opinion. Most people would give up their land, freedom, and property just because they didn't want him to destroy them. It was rare for anybody to reject the terms.

The Mouth fled back into Mordor through the Gates as the army marched out. The forces of Mordor completely surrounded the armies of the West. There was no escape, and there was little hope that they would fight out of the circle. Soon they will pay the price for defying Sauron himself!

The two sides almost immediately started battle. Fighting was fierce among the orcs and men. Olórin felled many with his sword and staff while Aragorn battled a troll. The Nazgûl continued their tactic of making their fell beasts pick up many men at once and throwing them down. Sauron noticed three of them landing among the midst of the chaos and were fighting on foot. The three appeared to be Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur.

_Now why are they doing that?_

If Sauron had looked closer, he would have seen the three were actually cutting down orcs, Easterlings and the Haradrim carefully. The armies of the West were fighting hard, but they were beginning to be pushed more and more together by the armies of Mordor. Sauron knew they would never win no matter how hard they fought. More men of the West fell slain than those of the armies of Mordor.

Suddenly the call of his Ring rang out loud and shrill. Sauron's vision was immediately drawn with lightning speed towards Mount Doom. He saw the halfling who possessed his Ring standing on the edge of the Cracks of Doom along with another halfling and a scrawny, ugly-looking creature whom he recognized as Gollum. The halfling had put on the Ring. For the first time in thousands of years, Sauron felt true terror and panic. His life depended on the Ring and if it were destroyed, he would go along with it. That would mean facing judgment before the Valar. That would mean getting sent to the Void. That would mean facing Master Melkor again.

_No! My Ring in Mount Doom, the only place where it could be destroyed! How could I not notice the halfling creeping across Mordor the entire time? How could I not capture him already? How could I not sense the Ring at such a close range? How could I be so careless?_

_Khamûl! _Sauron screamed into Khamûl's mind in panic, _Forget the battle! Retrieve my Ring from the hands of the halfling in Mount Doom before it gets destroyed! Make haste!_

Khamûl made no reply, but Sauron saw him steer his fell beast towards Mordor with the speed of wind while followed by Morgomir, Gothmog, Akhorahil, and Ji Indur. Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur were still on the ground fighting. Sauron longed to use his powers to instantly arrive at the volcano, but that would again take too much of his power and perhaps use it all up. He was now facing a dilemma. Either Sauron could teleport to Mount Doom and lose all his powers, causing Mordor to fall into ruin or he could do nothing and hope the Nazgûl will arrive in time. Unexpectedly he thought what would the Witch King have responded if he called him to rescue the Ring. He turned his vision towards the fighting armies and saw the men of the West were now wearing hopeful looks on their faces. Suddenly Sauron noticed a figure fighting too, but on the outer edges of the Mordor army. He was causing chaos among them and they scattered in all directions. He took a closer look and saw the figure was cloaked in black, wielding both a mace and a sword and was using them with deadly precision. When Sauron saw his face, he nearly fell again from Barad-dûr in surprise and nearly forgot all about the peril of his Ring.

_But he was dead! I saw him die! There is no way for him to survive! It's impossible for anyone to survive a wound like that! _He thought frantically.

_Hurry up, Khamûl! _Sauron again shouted as he swung his eye towards Mount Doom. Khamûl was still flying right over Barad-dûr and had quite a distance to cover. Sauron had now made his decision and got ready to travel there. It was better for him to lose all his powers than to lose his life and spend eternity with Master Melkor. Sauron raised one arm, vanished in wisps of black smoke and flew as a gust of wind towards Mount Doom. He felt the power drain out of him, and the foundations of Barad-dûr shook. Despite that, Sauron saw what was happening inside the volcano clearly.

_That wasn't too bad. Now what to do with the halfling…_

The invisible halfling was now wrestling with Gollum. The creature bit off one of the halfling's fingers, the finger with the Ring. Now triumphant, Gollum danced on the edge, laughing madly. Sauron almost rejoiced that at least the Ring was claimed by another. He could use its influence to make the creature bring it to him easily. However Gollum slipped, and fell along with the Ring right into the fiery chasm of Mount Doom. At the same time Sauron materialized inside the volcano. None of the three noticed him.

To Sauron the whole thing seemed to happen in slow motion. The Ring fell slowly towards the lava, spinning and reflecting the fires with a brilliant orange. The inscription on it suddenly blazed white hot. He gave a terrible cry, ran towards the chasm and tried to reach for it. Khamûl was too late. Nobody could snatch the Ring now. The Nazgûl had failed Sauron in his most crucial moment. He was going to die.

The Ring hit the lava and sank like a stone. The gold melted like ice in fire.

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**Review please! Maybe I'll really win against Mom for the fight for the computer.**


	6. Accusations and Forgiveness

**Sorry for the long wait, readers. This chapter was really hard to write and schoolwork was taking up most of my time. I will try to update as soon as I can next time.**

**Thanks to Juu50x and SJD042342 for reviewing and to all readers who put this story into their favorites.**

**Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Tolkien, not me. I am merely using his characters and setting in writing for pure entertainment. Well, maybe except Ráivë, Eldánon and Irmä. I made those names up because so many of the Maiar were unnamed.**

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The Witch King sat silently in the Halls of Mandos trying to sort out his thoughts while other occupants of the Hall accused him. There were many kinds of people there: from warriors, soldiers, kings, commoners, Elves and more. There were also Elf-like beings standing guard among all the people. The Witch King knew they weren't Elves because they radiated an aura of power greater than they. He had guessed that these guards were of the Maiar, and Námo was a Vala.

The Hall of Mandos was quite crowded actually, for Námo had gone to Valmar to meet with Manwë and discuss about the people that would be sent into the Void. He will not be back for some time. The hall itself was a large stone building with high vaulted ceilings and arched windows along the sides. Beautiful tapestries seeming to depict Middle-earth's history adorned the walls. There were many seats and stone benches that lined up neatly to face an ornately decorated throne at the very front. The Witch King had supposed that Námo sat on it while delivering judgment.

"You destroyed the realm of Arnor…"

"You killed Eärnur king of Gondor…"

"You killed so many in the siege of Minas Ithil…"

"And so many at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields…"

The Witch King tried his best to shut out those accusations with no avail. As he was blown along with the wind, it had taken him straight to the Halls of Mandos. He again was given the form he had as a wraith and was immediately recognized by all the people awaiting judgment. At first there was silence that lasted so long that one could hear a pin being dropped. Then somebody had shouted, "It is the Witch King of Angmar, Lord of the Nazgûl!" So the accusations began.

_I never knew the Hall of Mandos actually existed and the dead were judged here. But I know Námo should have judged those people more quickly, _The Witch King thought glumly, _At least there would not be so many people to crowd this place. Some were even from the beginning of the Third Age. The Battle of the Pelennor Fields did not help at all. So many Gondorians, Rohirrim and those from the armies of Mordor were slain._

_ No sentence or judgment I need. Although I am not clear of the situation right now, I know that my fate is spending eternity in the Void. But I tried my best to help in the battle. Perhaps that is not enough to redeem myself. Again, how did I cast that fire spell? Never in my life since I became a wraith had I been able to cast one of these. What will happen to the Nazgûl now? I hope Sauron does not punish Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur because of their participation in my plans. Speaking of Sauron, I wonder what happened to him._

"You deserve to be thrown in the Void…"

"Look at all the misery you had caused…"

"May your master fall under the same terrible fate…"

_Sauron is going to pay for all this dearly if I ever meet him again. May all those accusations fall upon his head. If it were not for him, I would never be in this situation in the first place._

"You were the Ringwraith who shot my horse with a dart." A voice suddenly cut through all the clamoring.

The Witch King finally pulled himself out of his thoughts and faced the one speaking. It was the king of Rohan he had slain while in Sauron's possession. He looked the same here as he did in battle, with graying beard and shoulder-length hair and wearing his armor. An expression of inquisitiveness was currently on his wise looking face.

"It is not my position to deny that." He said, the first time he had ever spoken upon arriving in the Hall of Mandos.

"'Tis not a glorious death to be crushed by one's own horse." The king said grimly.

"The shieldmaiden, Éowyn. She was a relative of yours?" The Witch King was curious. He was also amazed that the king had the courage to actually speak to him, the wraith who brought absolute terror at his very approach, not to mention that he confronted him in a rather neutral manner.

"You know her name?" The king was astonished also, "She is my niece, the daughter of my younger sister Théodwyn. But alas, she is dead. Slain in battle. I cannot find her in this hall."

"She lives, and was kind enough to send me to this Hall of Accusations while at it."

The king fell silent for a while and stared. The Witch King began to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps he shouldn't have told him about that particular shameful fact. But to his utmost surprise the king laughed jovially out of all reactions.

"Éowyn slew the Lord of the Ringwraiths himself?" He said disbelievingly, "I must have underestimated her abilities! Please tell me, how did it happen?"

The Witch King sighed. He now truly regretted telling the king of Rohan about it. He, the mighty Lord of the Nazgûl, had allowed himself to be slain by a mere shieldmaiden who was not proficient in swordsmanship! Then again, there was no other way. He wondered if Sauron was really trapped in his mind.

"You would be wise to stop pursuing this topic. I do not wish to speak of it." He said shortly.

"The blame isn't yours. After all, I am glad to hear that Éowyn is alive." The king said relieved, but then suddenly turned suspicious, "Excuse me, but why am I speaking to the Lord of the Ringwraiths in a casual conversation?"

"Was that a question meant for you to answer…?" It was the Witch King's turn to stare at the king, who shrugged and went away, soon lost in the crowd.

"Lord Mandos is here! Lord Mandos is here!" The crowd started to shout.

The people at one end all divided up to let the Vala pass through. He strode up to the throne at the other end of the hall and sat down. Námo was very tall, even taller than the Witch King. He wore dark grey robes that swept the ground as he walked. He had long black hair and a fine pointed face with dark brown eyes. In fact, he looked almost like an elf in the Witch King's opinion. But Námo seemed to radiate an aura of great power, a power even greater than Sauron's and the mysterious beings' standing guard in the Hall. He was also known as the Doomsman of the Valar, the Vala who judged and ruled the dead in his halls in the legends. He was known more commonly as Mandos to the race of Man. Námo had the authority to send those he deemed worthy of the Void, although he always consulted Manwë first. The Witch King knew he had no hope of getting out of this.

"What is this commotion I hear in my halls?" Námo asked. His voice was grim and without emotion, "Accusations of one destroying the ancient realm of Arnor, leading the siege on Minas Ithil… There is only one being I could think of that has finally arrived among us today."

The Witch King involuntarily shrank back against the crowd as Námo's piercing gaze found him at once. It was like having his mind searched for every secret and misdeed he had done. There was nothing he could hide. It was even worse to be singled out by the Doomsman of the Valar than been accused by the people. The people seemed to push the Witch King forward as he tried futilely to hide himself. Finally he was pushed forward right before Námo. The presence of his power became almost too overwhelming to bear, threatening to force him to his knees.

"Welcome to my halls, Leader of the Úlairi, one who stands between the living and the dead. Since you are the source of this disturbance, I shall have the honor of judging you first." Námo said evenly.

The Witch King said nothing and stood silently.

"He needs no judgment, Lord Námo! All of us know who he was and what he had done in the history of Middle-earth. Send him to the Void without hesitation!" Somebody shouted.

"Send him to the Void! Send him to the Void!" Soon the chant was taken up by everyone.

_I have nothing to say in this matter. But all these actions I had done to amend my mistakes, are they in vain? Maybe if I had defied Sauron completely and died because of it, I would have been pardoned. Instead I served him for thousands of years without question until now._

"Silence in my halls!" Námo raised his voice. All the shouting died down immediately.

"The Witch King deserves his fate, Lord Mandos." Another spoke up.

"Both he and his master deserves it."

"Middle-earth would be in peace if it were rid of both the Dark Lord and his servants."

Námo was beginning to look exasperated.

"I do not have the time to listen to your accusations. The most recent battle has brought many into this place. Already much time had been lost. I shall send the Witch King before the Máhanaxar for judgment." Námo said somewhat stiffly.

_What is the Máhanaxar? Events are getting more and more confusing now._

"Ráivë, Eldánon! Take him to the golden western gates of Valmar. And you, Irmä, go to Manwë and inform him of a meeting of the Máhanaxar." Námo ordered.

Two of the guards strode towards the Witch King, grabbed hold of him and led him out of the hall while one ran out. He didn't even bother to resist and went without speaking. But he had a bad feeling that the Máhanaxar would be even worse than the Hall of Mandos.

"What is the Máhanaxar?" The Witch King was unable to contain his curiosity.

"It is not your place to ask questions. Your fate is obvious. You threw in your lot with Sauron, and therefore you shall get what you deserve." One said shortly.

_I am in this place today under the accusations of thousands because of Sauron! I do not deserve this fate. Námo singled me out to be judged, and now he sends me to the Máhanaxar. I know I am doomed to the Void. Even my so-called sacrifice didn't work. It was obvious that Sauron did not get trapped in my mind and is still weaving his twisted plans for the destruction of the free peoples of Middle-earth._

"It is my place to know my fate and the ones who are going to judge me." The Witch King retorted.

"You will not show insolence in the presence of the Maiar!" The one who first spoke said angrily.

"Do not be so rash, Ráivë. It is rare for Lord Námo to send anyone before the Lords of Valinor for judgment. The Máhanaxar is the gathering of the Powers at the west gates of Valmar, the city of the Valar. There they make their decisions, bathed in the light of Ibrîniðilpathânezel and Tulukhedelgorûs. But alas, they are no more. Destroyed by Morgoth the black enemy." The other said sadly.

_Those two complex words he uttered...what do they mean? They sound harsh to the ears._

"You spent too much time in the halls of Lady Nienna, Eldánon, and you use our language too casually around those who are not of the Ainur. Pity is the last thing the wraith needs." The Maia called Ráivë by his companion said harshly.

_I thought the Valar and the Maia were only figures in legends, who seem to have their own language also. Stories made up to explain various things. I even heard that all the Valar and Maiar are under another lord. From what these two Maiar are saying, it seems like I will be facing the Valar themselves: Manwë, Aulë, Oromë, Tulkas and the others. But why? Did I really commit such serious crimes?_

"Pity is not a bad emotion. I pity also his master. Mairon should have returned to us as soon as Morgoth was defeated."

"Enough speech. We have arrived." Ráivë declared.

"And there is no way to escape. You cannot enter Valmar because it is only for the Elves and the Ainur. The sea separates Aman from Middle-earth. That was why Lord Námo only sent us to escort you." He added as the Witch King looked around quickly.

"I wish you good luck. The Valar will sometimes be merciful." Eldánon said softly. He and Ráivë seemed to fade away and disappear.

The Witch King took another good look around his surroundings. There was a high wall made of stone that stretched all the way from where he came and a gate seemed to be made from pure gold was set in a distance. The tips of buildings can be seen over the wall. The entire city of Valmar seemed to glow with light. Right now he was standing in a circle of ornate thrones. But in front of that were the dead remains of two trees. The sea spread out on the other side, reflecting the setting sun in dazzling lights that made the golden gates glow like fire.

_Valinor, that is what they call it. A place spoken of only in legends and stories. The land where the Númenóreans were banned to step on. The Ban of the Valar it was called, the cause of our downfall. The very same beings forbade the Númenóreans from passing into the West. Now that I am here, everything is explained in their own way._

_I suppose there will be more accusing coming up. There is absolutely no way for me to avoid it. Speaking of that, the Valar are taking their time to arrive here._

True enough, there wasn't a sign of someone arriving. It was completely silent, only the sound of waves slapping the rocks can be heard. The Witch King still waited, becoming more and more impatient. He was also getting anxious.

_No one… Does it mean I am pardoned? But that is unheard of._

"Is there no one to accuse you?" Asked a deep voice. The voice was male and seemed to resound from everywhere. The Witch King jumped and turned around. There was no one as far as he could see.

"Who speaks?" He asked loudly.

"Is there no one to accuse you?" The voice repeated patiently.

_What is going on here? Who is the speaker?_

The Witch King looked around again. The thrones were still empty. There _was _no one to judge or accuse him. Nor was there any sign of the speaker.

"I think not..." He said cautiously.

"Then I do not either. Come now to my realm." The voice answered.

Suddenly Valinor and all its surrounding land and sea vanished in a bright light and a rushing sound. Startled, the Witch King lost his balance and fell on his back. Everything turned white in his vision, forcing him to shade his eyes with one hand to avoid being blinded. The light began to fade a little, and he saw he was in another hall made of pure white marble clean and pure beyond imagination. The Witch King began to feel out of place with his black cloak and armor as he looked around. He also noticed that everything had gone extremely quiet. The walls were so bright that it even hurt to look at them.

_Where am I? This is certainly not another area of Valinor. Something tells me that this is not Middle-earth either… _He thought as he got up.

"Welcome to the Timeless Halls, young one." The voice spoke again. It came from the other end. Unlike Námo's presence and voice, the speaker sounded warm and affectionate.

For the first time the Witch King noticed that there was someone, or rather a presence, standing in the hall right on top of a few shallow steps. The source of light seemed to come from this presence, for it shone the brightest there. He could almost see the faint shadow of a figure in the light, and had a strange feeling he had seen it somewhere before.

"Who are you?" The Witch King asked again.

"Your people used to honor me on their island, but long since had they turned astray. I am not surprised that many had forgotten my name." The presence said placidly.

Memories began to course through the Witch King's mind. He saw a wide open expanse on a high mountain in Númenor with only one person standing in the middle of it. The person seemed to be a king, who had long grey hair adorned with a high crown on top and was wearing magnificent robes. The king was holding up both of his hands and from the look on his face, was offering a prayer of petition. The Witch King remembered a name that had unexpected turned up in his memories while he was brought to the Hall of Mandos.

"You are Eru Ilúvatar, Lord of the Ainur and Creator of Arda." The Witch King said quietly.

"To say I am pleased that someone remembers me would be a great understatement," The presence said in a delighted voice, "You may call me Ilúvatar."

"Why did you bring me here when the Valar were supposed to judge me?" The Witch King asked curiously.

"I created the Elves and Men in Middle-earth, gave each one a personality, way of thinking, and their own mind. Each one is special, and I do not wish to see a single one of them be sent to the Void." Ilúvatar said.

"You are not an exception from the others. I decided that it would be better for the all of us if I brought you here. I know that you claim to be falsely accused and desire not to enter the Void." He continued thoughtfully.

_He knows? Then...what am I here for again?_

"But I have so many questions. What is going on here? Why am I brought to this place? Why were the Valar absent when they were summoned to judge me?"

"Please sit down, young one. We have much to speak about." The presence of Ilúvatar moved aside a little and seemed to indicate a spot on the steps.

The Witch King hesitated. He already was very confused about this new turn of events. In fact, all he had been feeling was confusion since he set step into the Hall of Mandos. And now this being who was in the legends the supreme creator of Arda was calling him "young one" and asking him to sit next to him. The Witch King felt uncomfortable in being called that. It made him feel like a young child, not an over five-thousand year old life weary wraith.

"I take that you do not like to be called that." Ilúvatar said casually.

Startled again, the Witch King took a step back.

_He can read my mind? Then there is nothing I could hide from him._

"Come, please sit down. There is much to be explained and made clear."

Reluctantly the Witch King came to the steps and sat down. Strangely he felt warm and at peace, not overwhelmed and terrified as before Námo.

"Now tell me more about yourself first." Ilúvatar said pleasantly.

"There is nothing in to tell about." The Witch King said in a low voice.

"For one who has lived for thousands of years? Start from the beginning then."

"I remember not of the things before I became a wraith."

It was true. After a few hundred years had passed for the Witch King, he began to forget everything of his previous human life. He had almost even forgotten about his former position as a king of Númenor. Only the memories of his service to Sauron remained after a few thousand years had passed.

"There was a reason why Man are not immortal like the Elves. Their minds cannot bear to handle the memories accumulated over the years. But your life has been extended greatly by your status as a wraith." Ilúvatar read his mind again.

_If that were so, then I would remember nothing of my previous life. Why did I have to accept that accursed ring then? Immortality is a curse, not a blessing!_

"Mairon did that, didn't he?"

_There is that name again. Somehow it also sounds familiar._

"Your master is a Maia, young one, named Mairon. Most powerful of the Maiar, he is, and also the most curious. I would say that his curiosity prompted him to join Melkor." Ilúvatar explained, "And Melkor was the greatest of the Valar, the first to fall to darkness. He was the Dark Lord of Middle-earth before your master."

_I never knew Sauron was one of those elf-like beings! I thought he was a very powerful human sorcerer who had achieved immortality! From the way Ilúvatar spoke of Melkor, he must be worse than Sauron. That Morgoth character Eldánon mentioned must be the same one._

"Melkor! He was also called Morgoth, was he not?" Hearing this new information, the Witch King forgot all about Ilúvatar's previous question.

Ilúvatar sighed as if in lamentation. He could suddenly feel sorrow deeper than any he had seen emanating from the being. Sorrow for a wayward child and his refusal to return. For a moment, the Witch King thought he would weep for whatever Ilúvatar was mourning for.

"Black Enemy, it means. Fëanor son of Finwë gave him that name when he stole the Silmarils and waged a long war against him. He was the most promising of the Valar, the closest one to me. Yet he chose to walk on the path to destruction, which led to his placement in the Void." Ilúvatar finally spoke.

The Witch King wasn't that familiar with the history of the First Age of Middle-earth. But he knew something about the war between the Noldor Elves and Morgoth for the Silmarils.

"That will be the place I will be going if I were not brought here, right? The Valar will have me sent there without a second thought." The Witch King said quietly.

"The Timeless Void," Ilúvatar sighed, "The absence of Flame Imperishable. It is a gap that should have never existed outside of Eä."

"What a terrible place it must be." The Witch King began to imagine a place without light, sound, smell, existence, and of course, with the presence of Morgoth lurking somewhere.

"Your master will be sent there if he persists in his fallen ways." Ilúvatar said unexpectedly.

"Why do you keep calling Sauron 'my master'?" The Witch King asked, "I abandoned that title for him a long time ago. He deserves to be sent to the Void for what he has done."

"Do you truly think that?" Ilúvatar wondered aloud, "Something momentous must had happened if you had started such a bitter grudge against him."

"He destroyed Númenor…" The Witch King said stiffly.

"Indeed he led Ar-Pharazôn astray to cross the Ban of the Valar. It was I, though, who raised the waves that pulled Númenor below the waters." Ilúvatar said.

_What? I thought Sauron had the power to control water and drowned Númenor himself! I was convinced of that fact in all those years. Then what exactly happened on that day? Who is to blame?_

"You are a Númenórean, young one. I feel your anguish from losing your home country. However, it was Ar-Pharazôn's choice to listen to Mairon or not. He listened, and the consequences cost him gravely. Númenor was at its twilight. People were doing evil, evil that has not been seen before in the generations of men. It cannot be continued. Judgment had to come upon them."

The Witch King suddenly remembered clearly a certain incident that happened a long time ago. He had been suspicious of Sauron's deeds at the Númenor and traveled the long journey towards the West to investigate. It had been the Creator of Arda himself he had seen just before he was swept away by the waves that drowned the island realm.

_Ilúvatar was truly the one who drowned Númenor! But he said he loved each life that existed. Why would he do something so merciless like that?_

"You could have spared Númenor!" The Witch King was now angry and stood up, "You could have destroyed part of the fleet or give them a warning. Why did you have to destroy the whole island?"

"I did. I sent the Faithful to speak to those who did evil. They never turned away from their ways." Ilúvatar said sadly.

There was a long silence. The hall still gave off the brilliant light. The Witch King expected Ilúvatar to get angry too, and was now regretting his words. Strangely Ilúvatar did not, and remained sitting peacefully on the steps.

_Judgment on the Númenóreans? Was it not too harsh for them? But he did warn them. The Faithful, led by Elendil the Tall, spoke to the people and pleaded for them to turn from their evil ways. Perhaps they had refused the chance so many times. Ilúvatar was not the one to blame then. He would not have raised the waves if Sauron had not appeared to deceive. It was Sauron's fault still. But still...Númenor was lost..._

Finally Ilúvatar spoke, "You wish to see Mairon go to the Void?"

The Witch King looked up, startled from his thoughts of grievance for the downfall of Númenor.

"He deserves it, as I said earlier," He returned vehemently as the subject of Sauron was brought back up again, "He is the chief source of misery in Middle-earth. Made the people and land suffer, he did. Many perished in wars waged against Sauron. He enslaved most of his servants against his will, always cruel and demanding towards them. And most of all, despite what you said earlier, he was the one who led the people astray and brought about the Akallabêth!"

"If you had not accepted the Ring of Power offered to you, young one, you would have escaped your life as a wraith." Ilúvatar pointed out.

The Witch King fell silent.

_I suppose that was the crucial turning point for me. If I had not accepted Sauron's so-called gift, I would have been free to live as I please and die at the appointed time. I would never have to live such a long suffering life and serve Sauron against my will. It was why I was accused. The ring was a highway to the Void itself._

"Indeed it was. You should now know better than to accept it," Ilúvatar agreed, "The accusations you bore and the your countless sufferings were the consequences. Now it is the time to face your past, young one. I want to list everything you had done that had earned those accusations."

_ Even Ilúvatar agrees with the fact that my acceptance of my ring was the worst choice I had ever made. Now he wants me to actually list all things I did under the service of Sauron, even when the time when my mind was bound? How could I ever do so before the Creator of Arda, when I had wrought so much ruin upon his creation?_

"For now, do so in peace. I am one slow to anger. You have no need to fear my wrath." Again Ilúvatar read the Witch King's thoughts.

"…My service to Sauron was what they mainly accused me of," The Witch King slowly began, still doubtful of the other's words, "You must know also of my deeds throughout the history of Middle-earth. I was responsible for the destruction of Arnor, the besieging of Minas Ithil, the forced recruiting of Eärnur into the ranks of the Nazgûl, the countless casualties in battles fought against Mordor, the halfling I had harmed grievously by a Morgul-blade, the chaos I wrought upon Minas Tirith during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, the death of the king of Rohan..."

As he spoke, Ilúvatar produced a long piece of parchment paper out of nowhere and cast it into the air, which hung unmoving before him. The deeds the Witch King just mentioned were all written down by an invisible hand in the elegant flowing Tengwar script. The still wet black ink glistened brightly in the light, somehow burning with an intensity of its own.

"Ilúvatar, was that really necessary?" The Witch King was not that all pleased to have all of his wrongdoings listed before him like this. It was bad enough to name them orally in the first place.

"Let it be so for now," The Creator of Arda answered, "You shall see the use of the parchment later. Now I would like you to answer another question. How did you feel when you did those deeds?"

"I was forced to commit them! I never intended for the people of Arnor to be destroyed completely. I was trying to build up an army under the disguise of establishing a new realm so I might overthrow Sauron one day. Then _they_ had to come along with their armies and provoke me. Sauron told me to besiege Minas Ithil and recruit Eärnur. He made me kill the king of Rohan!"

"Now is not the moment to speak of others, but to concentrate on your own matters," Ilúvatar said rather severely.

_Sauron deserves to be accused!_

"Now, I would like you to answer my previous question."

Swallowing down his anger, the Witch King thought about the question for awhile. He knew he had experienced that feeling numerous times. So many times that it had become part of him. He had felt that when the failing forces of Arnor were driven back. Felt it after he stabbed the halfling carrying the Ring. Felt it when Sauron commanded him to attack Gondor.

Guilt.

"It is a great burden, that sense of guilt," Ilúvatar commented, "You must get rid of it, young one."

He looked at the parchment again. The accusations threatened to bore themselves into his mind with the vehemence behind when they were uttered by others.

There was a long silence.

_I had been carrying it for so long that I had forgotten what it is like to truly feel guilt and remorse for my actions. _The Witch King mused; _Everything was done in a state of numbness. It was only in those past years I was able to feel...something. I would like to get rid of this burden. But how? Now that I look back at those deeds I had done, I...feel...ashamed._

"I should have fought harder," The Witch King said quietly, "I should have persisted in my beliefs that Sauron had to be stopped. I should have found the courage to defy him instead of cowering back in fear after the incident at Minas Morgul. It was my entire fault..."

"Lord Ilúvatar, please forgive me. I had wronged myself and the people of Middle-earth for too long." He lowered his head in shame.

"Young one, no matter how great the wrong, one can be always forgiven if he turns back and repents wholeheartedly," Ilúvatar said warmly, "Likewise, you are forgiven also. As this document is destroyed and rendered unrecoverable, you are free to leave the past behind, free to have them forgotten."

The parchment burst into sudden flames, which consumed it and its contents quickly. Scattered fragments of the brown paper, charred black at the edges, flew lazily around the two before vanishing in thin air.

_I was forgiven so easily like that? That means I am free from my fate in the Void. But how…? However, I must admit that it certainly feels better to put the past behind me._

"It is, doesn't it? You no longer have to be sent to the Void now," Infinite joy seemed to radiate from the Creator as he spoke lightheartedly, "However, I think you would like a second chance at life, would you? I shall be sending you back to Middle-earth when this is all over."

"Sending me back?" The Witch King was shocked, "Why?"

"There is greater purpose behind all things I set in motion," Ilúvatar said wistfully, "But for now I cannot reveal it yet. However, here is something you should hear:

'_Mercy of Eru Ilúvatar incarnate,_

_In the Light and Fire of the Final Dawn._

_Upon them, they carry Arda's fate,_

_On their dawning the battle will be won._

_The Light and Fire, seemly come too late,_

_Shall herald the call of the Final Day_.'"

"What are you trying to hint at?" The Witch King became even more confused.

_I must say that he is truly an unpredictable character. First to the Timeless Halls he brought me, then he said he forgave me, and now he recites poetry?_

"A little something for your reference when you return. Consider it as, what you had said, a hint." The other said mysteriously.

Still not comprehending, the Witch King for some reason thought the poem to be crucial. He took it to heart and memorized it quickly.

"Forgiven you are, by me, but not by the Valar or by the people of Middle-earth," Ilúvatar suddenly stated, "Even you had repented of your past deeds; there will be a price to pay. You shall bear the consequences along with the ones you had already been carrying. Now hear my final judgment and decree!"

These last words were spoken with great authority and power. The white hall was soon resounding with the echoes of it. The Witch King involuntarily sprang up in alarm to face the Creator.

_Now what have I done to anger him so?_

"You will retain your form as a wraith, ever unseen and ever unfeeling. Your powers of sorcery will be stripped away, forcing you to rely not so heavily upon it. You will be shunned and despised until the day enmity is forgiven. Memories of the past will ever disturb you as you slowly discover it." Ilúvatar said in a grave voice.

"Punishments…" The Witch King faltered.

_Had I not borne the consequences of my ill-made choice for thousands of years? Now there are more to add to my burden. At least it is better than being under Sauron's service again or being sent to the Void to join Morgoth. I think I can bear these. I did not really expect to get away completely with this. But to lose my powers of sorcery, I spent years on practicing and improving my skills on that! As for being despised and remaining as a wraith, I am used to it. What about the memories? What memories?_

"I am able to bear them." The Witch King finally said.

"They are not of your primary concern, however," Ilúvatar warned, "You have a more important duty to be done. You must forgive Mairon, young one."

"Excuse me?"

"He knows that his ways will lead him on the ruinous path to the Void. He was controlled by his fear of Melkor. Mairon thought he could preserve himself in Middle-earth by conquering it and creating the One Ring. Instead it has brought him to his ruin faster."

_Another of Ilúvatar's queerness to add to the list. This is getting unreasonable. He wants me to forgive Sauron, out of all things? Never in my entire lifetime!_

"I cannot forgive Sauron, Ilúvatar!" The Witch King shot back, "You saw everything he did, the people he enslaved and the countries he destroyed. He slays thousands without hesitation. He took away everything I had and remembered. Heartless, he is. Cruel and without mercy. How can you expect me to forgive such a being? You had never experienced serving under his cruelty, and you demand such an impossible task from me."

"Of course I know of your sufferings while serving under him, so I am not pressuring you to do so right away. In fact, you may choose not to forgive him at all. But always remember that I forgave you, young one."

The Witch King again stopped in the middle of his words.

"I know it would not be easy to do so, but I trust that you can accomplish it. You are a noble character at heart, proved true when you made your sacrifice in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. You frequently thought of the others over yourself." Ilúvatar said thoughtfully.

"Noble? It failed…I was foolish to carry it out." The Witch King said shortly. He was now wondering why Ilúvatar brought it up. He was also surprised that he was actually _complemented_. The Witch King had never received a complement in his life. Insults and accusations aplenty, yes, but never praise or a word of encouragement.

"Not at all. If you hadn't done that, you would have to fight another unwilling battle."

"There is going to be another battle? What…"

"Ah, I think it is time for you to return." Ilúvatar said lightly. He seemed to stand up, and the Witch King followed. He was still pondering Ilúvatar's words and wondering about the fact that there will be another battle so soon. In fact, he would be pondering Ilúvatar's words most of the time in the future.

"I will be sending you a few hours ahead of time. You will find the armies of the West victorious from the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. They will be gathered at the Black Gate of Mordor and will be overwhelmed, for their presence only serves as a distraction for Mairon. His Ring will be destroyed from within his own land."

The Witch King felt strangely apprehensive, now hearing that Sauron was finally going to be defeated after so many years. But he now he knew that the Maia was surely going to the Void afterwards and meet the master he had always feared greatly, he became unsure of his conviction to live to see the day when Sauron was defeated. But one thing was certain. No matter what Ilúvatar had said, the Witch King won't be forgiving Sauron in a hurry. He would probably attempt on his life if he in some method met Sauron by chance.

"Prepare yourself, young one." Ilúvatar warned.

"Why do you keep calling me 'young one'? What is my true name?" The Witch King asked. He was curious about his name, which he had lost a long time ago. He had been known as "Lord of the Nazgûl" and "The Witch King of Angmar" throughout his life as a wraith. It had also been his greatest wish to regain his name.

"You will know it in time." Ilúvatar said kindly.

The Witch King tried to hide his disappointment. Here was one being who along probably knew his true name, and he had refused to reveal it! Before he could say anything, he was suddenly thrust away from the white hall. Everything spun and colors swirled before his vision. A great white noise roared all around. He was faintly aware of being pulled downward in a high speed. Even through all the chaos of sound and sight, Ilúvatar still seemed to speak.

"No matter what happens and what others say about you, remember that I had forgiven you. Nothing could ever turn that back." Ilúvatar said simply.

The Witch King stood on a cleft of rock jutting out from the rocky expenses that surrounded the Black Gate of Mordor. He could see the armies of the West gathered before it. Gandalf the Wizard was one of the leaders in front and he was speaking with the Mouth of Sauron. There was tension in the air, waiting like the water that was about to burst forth from a broken dam. The Witch King gripped the handle of his sword tightly. There was going to be a battle. The eye of Sauron still burned intensely on top of Barad-dûr. It seemed like nothing had changed since his journey to Valinor and the Timeless Hall. Except that he could in fact now see the world of the living with great clearness and that his mental connection with Sauron was no longer there. He also felt that the constant fatigue that stayed with him after the battle at Minas Morgul had disappeared.

_I wonder what I should do now. Ilúvatar did not send me back to this time without reason. Perhaps the end of Sauron is near. Hmm…the irony. His true danger is right there in Mordor itself._

Something happened between Gandalf and the Mouth, who fled back towards Mordor. The Black Gates opened with an ominous creak slowly and the marching of metal clad feet was heard. The waiting soldiers of the West shifted their weapons at the ready as the forces of Mordor marched out to surround them. Even though Sauron's army had been defeated at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, they were still far from being reduced significantly. The armies of Gondor and Rohan were outnumbered just like before. The Witch King drew his sword and held it in front of him with both hands. He could see the eight Nazgûl wheeling above on their fell beasts.

_I cannot allow them to see me, not yet._

The two armies started battle immediately. At the same time the Witch King leapt down from the rock he was standing on and landed behind the outer fringes of the armies of Mordor with a clang of his metal boots. Surprised at the sound, the orcs turned around only to have the Witch King's sword cleave into their necks. He spun around the weapon with deadly accuracy to run through another orc who was about to swing a mace at him. Without stopping, the Witch King snatched up the fallen mace and attacked a group of Easterlings who were trying to stop him, sending them careening into another group. There were guttural shouts of exclamation that came from the Haradrim who rushed at him with their weapons.

"I thought you were dead! You were slain during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields!"

"How did you come back?"

"Why are you fighting those from your own side? We all serve Sauron. He will be furious!"

"I am no longer on Sauron's side, nor do I serve him." The Witch King said calmly he sent several more orcs flying with his mace.

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**Review please! I have a feeling that the next chapter will be even harder to write...**


	7. In the Timeless Void

_**Sauron Gorthaur **_**kindly told me that this chapter was a repeat of the previous, so I fixed it as soon as I got back. Please enjoy, and sorry for the inconvenience!**

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The Ring was destroyed. He was going to die.

He could even imagine Master Melkor awaiting him in the Void.

Instantly Sauron had been wrenched from his place in Mount Doom when his Ring was unmade. His power broke and faded along with the Ring. The foundations of the Barad-dûr shook again and collapsed slowly with a horrible wrenching sound. His armies at the Gate stopped fighting and fled, for Sauron had placed a spell on them to fuel their hate and desire for fighting. His flaming eye burst into massive flames, emitting a wide-range shockwave that blew everything that wasn't tied down in Mordor into the air. Mount Doom exploded into its final eruption and lava began to leak from its sides. Great cracks appeared in the land of Mordor and the lava flowed through them. The Black Gates of Mordor fell into ruin.

As for Sauron, he lost his form of the black hooded figure when the Ring was destroyed. Now disembodied, he had no physical or solid form and therefore was blown along the wind as the appearance of a great shadow. The men of the West had stopped fighting and were gazing at the sky. A ragged cheer rose from the weary armies. But Sauron didn't care. He didn't care now the fact that Khamûl arrived too late. He didn't care about who the cloaked figure with the sword and mace was. He did regret that he should have gone to the Valar long ago when Master Melkor was finally defeated.

_I'm defeated! How could it be?! I did everything in my power to prevent it from happening! How could I not notice that the armies of the West before the Gate were only a distraction? My Ring was destroyed by a halfling. A halfling!_

_ I do not wish to see Master Melkor again. I do not wish to spend eternity in the Void with him. Oh why had I been so careless! If only I had stopped the halfling in time…_

The wind continued to bear him to the West. Sauron could already see the shores of Aman faintly in the distance.

_Heh. So now the Valar are going to judge me. Like they ever will be merciful…_

Valinor came into view. The remains of the Two Trees stood by the golden gates of Valmar. He could see the Valar seated in the thrones of the Máhanaxar. It seemed like they were looking straight at him. Sauron saw the lordly figure of Manwë, clothed in a cloak of light grey and a thin glittering band of gold around his head. There was also Námo himself, looking as grim and foreboding as ever. Oromë the Huntsman, light brown haired and bearded with flashing blue eyes was present. His white horse Nahar stood grazing a few yards away. The tall and muscular form of Tulkas stood beside Oromë, his golden armor reflecting the rays of the sun. Lastly was Aulë the Blacksmith. He was dressed in the simple garbs of a blacksmith and carried a large hammer on his back. Aulë resembled Oromë to some degree, but his eyes seemed to be full of warmth. There was also a great host of Maiar standing behind the thrones. Sauron also recognized some of them, but had long forgotten their names.

_I will not submit to the Valar no matter what happens._

As he got closer, he could hear the Maiar shouting angrily.

_Ugh…could this get any worse? Now I get to be accused by the Maiar too? I was once an apprentice of Aul__ë, and I haven't seen him since I joined Master Melkor. He still looks senile as usual, foolish to not have understood my motives._

Sauron gave an exclamation of surprise when he was suddenly pulled out of his form as a shadow. It seemed to him that he was been dragged towards the circle at a high speed. He was then forcefully materialized in his hooded figure form in front of the seated Lords of Valinor. Startled, Sauron stumbled and fell on his knees. The assembled Maiar fell silent and waited. Manwë was the first to speak.

"Sauron, it is about time you come here. You had aided Morgoth in the marring of Arda and interfered greatly in the works of our Lord Eru Ilúvatar. Therefore you will be judged by the Valar accordingly. " He said coldly.

"Interfered?! How dare you, Mânawenûz..." Sauron spat back purposefully in Valarin as he stood up again and looked at Manwë defiantly. By what means could the Valar start accusing him like this!

The assembled Ainur immediately started their uproar again as the most of the Valar looked outraged.

"You will not desecrate our language in front of us," Oromë said severely, "Restrain your tongue if you will please, Sauron."

_How very like of them, becoming upset just because of a language issue._

"Stop me if you can, Arômêz..."

The rest of Sauron's sentence was silenced when Námo waved a hand. Sauron continued to speak, but no sound came out of his mouth.

"If you will not hold your tongue, then we will do it for you, " Námo said dryly, "You do not count the time when you served Morgoth faithfully as his lieutenant, waged war upon the Noldor Elves, deceived Celebrimbor and the Elves of Eregion in forging the Rings of Power, forged the One Ring yourself to rule over Middle-earth, corrupted nine mortal men with the Rings and turned them into the Úlairi, destroyed the realm of Eregion and slew the Elves there, enticed the Númenóreans to worship Morgoth and to engage in horrific sacrificial practices, slandered the name of Lord Eru, enticed Curumo to join you in your schemes, ordered the attack on Minas Tirith?"

But he was quickly interrupted by the Maiar, who had begun to shout again for the third time.

To Sauron the voices of the Maiar seemed to drown out even his thoughts. He could make out some of the words. Most of them were accusations and words of anger. Some were words of disappointment and pity. But it mattered little, for all the sound merged together into a roaring thundering sound. Sauron covered his ears and tried to ignore it. He then noticed that Aulë was shaking his head in disappointment.

_What should I do now? They certainly will be sending me to the Void. Why am I subject to such humiliation right now? Argghh…all that noise! Somebody make it stop!_

"Silence!" Tulkas barked over the tumult of sound.

The Maiar quieted down somewhat reluctantly.

"Sauron, do you deny those charges against you?" Manwë spoke again.

_What an unnecessary question…..._

"Why should I deny it?" Sauron said bitterly as Námo released his hold over his power of speech, "You will send me to the Void even if I plead for mercy."

"No, Sauron. If you had come back along with Eönwë, we would have given you a punishment, nothing more." Aulë spoke up.

_A punishment? That does not make matters sound better! What do I care?_

"Why would you even care?" Sauron laughed, "You Valar abandoned Middle-earth a long time ago. You care nothing about it. Why should I lower myself and allow you to pronounce your judgment on me?"

"Do you not fear Melkor?" Oromë said evenly, "He resides in the Void, the very same place you will be sent."

"Enough said!" Námo said sharply, "Instead of pleading for pardon right now, you chose to put the blame of your downfall on us. You don't deny it indeed! Your pride blinds you as usual, Sauron."

_Hmph...You Valar are also the same, accusing others instead of themselves._

"Hear our decree now. Because of your persistence to follow the fallen ways of Melkor, you will be thrown into the Void, where you will stay until the end of age." Manwë said grimly.

"You would not!" Sauron shouted angrily as he resisted the desire to strike Manwë in his sneering face, "You doom yourselves by placing me in the same place as my master. Consider again, if you wish to avoid utter chaos and destruction!"

"It is too late, Sauron. I thought you enjoyed aiding Melkor in the marring of Arda. Surely you would not mind seeing him after so many years." Tulkas said, suddenly appearing beside Sauron and pinning his arms behind him.

"Let me go! You achieve nothing by doing this!" Sauron struggled futilely in Tulkas' grip.

The assembly of the gathered Maiar seemed to fade away quickly. But the grip of Tulkas remained. Everything faded into a blur of colors, and soon they solidified to reveal the Doors of Night. It was made of thick black steel, decorated by elaborate carvings of the sun and the moon. Made by the Valar, the Gates served as a passage for the Sun and the Moon on their course. It seemed ironic to Sauron that such elaborate doors bar the entrance to the Timeless Void itself. He renewed his struggle to escape Tulkas' grasp, knowing that it was impossible. The Doors of Night began to open slowly.

"Now, don't cause trouble, Sauron. I expect you to think long and hard about your past transgressions during your time in the Void." Tulkas said grimly.

"Think?! Probably I'll spend most of my time avoiding Master Melkor and trying to escape." Sauron exclaimed.

_Maybe I can convince him from throwing me in? But that's not likely. No...Master Melkor will not be merciful to me. I must get out of this!_

"If I offer to do anything for you, will you relent and let me go?"

Tulkas laughed, "If it is not the great Maia Sauron offering to serve another! What happened to your pride that you still so obstinately hold on to? I thought you refuse to lower yourself in a position any further than the one you are in now. And no, thank you. I do not want your services. Surely you must know that Ainur only serve one Lord, the same Lord you rebelled against before you joined Morgoth?"

_Why is everyone talking about my pride as it were a bad thing? And what is that talk about the Valar serving another? They serve themselves only!_

_ The situation is hopeless. I can never escape from Tulkas. The Void…The Void! A place of eternal darkness and suffering. Master Melkor..._

"Isn't it ironic that your master was dragged here and thrown in by myself, and now you face the same fate?" Tulkas continued to speak.

The Doors of Night opened completely to reveal the pitch black space behind them. A chill wind blew out, accompanied by cries of anguish and torment. A sinister laughter seemed to resound from the depths. Sauron could feel the dark presence of Master Melkor radiating from within. Tulkas gripped Sauron by the collar of his cloak tightly as he struggled even harder.

"Will you just stop moving? I thought you would be glad about this." He said angrily.

_Let me go! I don't want..._

"Please send my best regards to Morgoth, thanks." Tulkas said sarcastically…and hurled Sauron straight through the Doors.

Without even time to cry out or even think, Sauron was thrown headfirst into the Void as the Doors closed again with a forlorn clang, shutting out all light. At first he was silent as he fell rather slowly. There was no trace of light at all and the cries sounded even louder. So did the sinister laughter that seemed to resound from everywhere.

"Welcome to the Void, Sauron. I haven't seen you for some while." A deep voice boomed from the lower parts.

Sauron froze. He recognized that voice. It was hard to forget it once he had first heard the voice's owner speak. It seemed to radiate immense power and assured the hearer of riches and prosperity. It was very ancient and even rivaled Manwë's voice in authority. Perhaps that was what made Sauron join him in the first place.

"Noooooo!" Sauron screamed as he continued to fall into eternal darkness. His work on Middle-earth and his attempts to gain power were all for naught. Here he was, encountering his master again, the very thing he wished to avoid.

* * *

The Witch King pulled his sword in one swift movement from a dead orc and looked at it with distaste. The sword was covered to the hilt with blood, mostly turning brown as it dried. He still hated killing after all these years, but serving Sauron as the leader of the Nine had made him numb to it. He thought of the countless men, elves and orcs he had killed during battle and shuddered.

_Why is it that we are given the power to end life? Even if I fight with a good reason, to protect, can that be justified?_

The Witch King had been fighting with no rest since Sauron's army began their attack. He cut through the circle around the armies of the West and caused havoc among the front lines of the enemy. Fighting became especially difficult without sorcery. The Witch King tried casting a lightning spell toward a group of Haradrim and nothing happened. The mace had been broken as the Witch King used it to defend from a particular vicious blow from a troll. He saw the remaining Nazgûl also fighting and was very careful to not let them spot him. It surprised him greatly when he saw Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur also helping the armies of the West.

_I thought they will not try to test the wrath of Sauron. But again, Sauron was defeated. That must be the reason why his army started to scatter._

Almost overwhelmed by a very large group of Easterlings, the Witch King was saved when Sauron's army suddenly began to panic and run away. He still cut down some of them as they ran, but was looking intently at the tower of Barad-dûr as it collapsed into ruin. The Nazgûl had disappeared along with Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur when the destruction of Mordor began. Now there was no trace of Sauron's army. The battleground was littered with bodies of men, orcs and horses. Broken banners with Sauron's eye emblazoned on them stuck out from the ground and flapped feebly in the wind as a sure sign of defeat. The Witch King sheathed his sword and stood before the Black Gates, feeling strangely apprehensive.

_This feeling is the same as before when I was sent back. I do not rejoice over Sauron's final defeat. Strange, that was my greatest wish: To live to see Sauron finally defeated. Now it is fulfilled, why am I not elated? Instead I stand here brooding…_

"You!" A loud shout brought the Witch King out of his thoughts.

He immediately stiffened. He should have been more careful. The armies of the West were probably standing right behind him with their weapons drawn. The Witch King turned around to face them. The speaker seemed to be a slightly bearded man with shoulder-length dark brown hair and blue eyes. The Witch King noticed that he was probably a man from the bloodline of Númenor, a descendant of the ancient Númenóreans. Gandalf the wizard was standing beside him, accompanied by a noble-looking man wearing armor with the symbol of a white swan. There was also a blond haired elf, a dwarf and a Rohirric marshal.

"Yes?" The Witch King said adamantly.

"Do my eyes deceive me, or is it really the Lord of the Nazgûl who was slain during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields standing before me?" The man who first spoke said disbelievingly.

"They do not deceive you," The Witch King said shortly as he pondered quickly what to do with the situation right now, "Sauron is defeated. Are you not satisfied with results, or do you seek to eliminate all his servants also?"

"Impossible…" Gandalf whispered.

"Were not the Nazgûl vanquished when the One Ring was destroyed?" The elf asked as he nocked an arrow to his bow.

"Now surrender your weapons and submit to us." The same man commanded, pointing his sword towards the Witch King.

_Surrender? I did not expect them to say that. That would be a humiliation. I should have been more careful in the first place._

"What am I of use to you?" The Witch King tried to buy time.

An arrow suddenly hit him in the shoulder hard and he staggered. The elf had fired it and was drawing a second arrow.

"Legolas!" The man exclaimed.

The arrow dissolved into wisps of smoke a second later in the Witch King's shoulder.

_I have not lost all my abilities as a wraith…_

"Stay your weapons!" Gandalf shouted. He waved his staff and spoke a word of sorcery. The Witch King was immediately bound with a spell that forced him to his knees. He groaned in frustration and struggled uselessly.

_If I still had my powers of sorcery, I would have broken this spell with no difficulty. Why did Ilúvatar have to take that away from all the things he could choose? Now what should I do? I did not expect this at all!_

Gandalf walked up to the Witch King and pointed his staff at him. He looked at him curiously and his eyes seemed to study him like an open book.

"You were possessed back at the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, weren't you?" Gandalf asked quietly.

"What?" The Witch King was surprised.

"A wraith would never use fire in battle when they are afraid of it themselves. I presume that it was Sauron?"

"Yes. What do you hope to achieve by binding and questioning me?"

"You perished when the shieldmaiden of Rohan gave you the fatal blow, and yet you still survive?" Gandalf asked carefully.

"What do you want to know?" The Witch King beginning to get angry of being humiliated like this, "I will tell you then, if that is what you want! I perished, and was sent to the Halls of Mandos where I was accused vehemently by people who don't even know the truth. I was sent to the Máhanaxar for further judgment, if that wasn't enough. Then I got brought before Eru Ilúvatar himself and he decided to send me back…"

Strangely the Witch King's anger faded away as he spoke the last words. He fell silent.

"Lord Eru, hmm?" Gandalf mused. He spoke another word and the binding spell vanished. The Witch King stood up slowly, astonished by this sudden change of events.

"Gandalf, what are you doing?" The man asked uncertainly.

"Lord Eru would not send the perished back to Middle-earth without reason, especially those who are the servants of Sauron. I believe you. The name Ilúvatar has been forgotten a long time ago. You wouldn't have known of it if you hadn't been to Valinor or the Timeless Hall." Gandalf said slowly.

"Then I suppose you belong to one of the Maiar?" The Witch King asked.

Gandalf nodded, "Indeed I am. I was sent to help the people of Middle-earth to fight against Sauron and his servants."

"I am no longer one of Sauron's servants…"

"The Ring-bearer is still in peril, Gandalf! He may be trapped in the ruins of Mordor. Let us retrieve him first and then deal with this wraith." The man shouted urgently.

"I must attend to this matter at once. Please stay here." Gandalf said politely.

_This Ring-bearer character must have been a man of immense courage, to have braved the land of Sauron himself in order to destroy the Ring. Still, I wonder what I should do now. Trying to escape will only earn their distrust. Maybe I should go along with them for now, as much as I am reluctant to do that. _The Witch King thought.

Eagles came soaring through the sky. He turned around and recognized them as the immense Eagles of Manwë spoken of in legend, who often helped the people of Middle-earth in their quests to defeat evil. Gandalf climbed onto an eagle who had landed and flew off towards the direction of Mount Doom.

"Mithrandir may have spared your miserable life, but that doesn't mean we will!" The elf said menacingly and he and all the other men drew their weapons.

The Witch King sighed again, _What have I gotten myself into?_

* * *

Sauron was panting hard. He had been avoiding Master Melkor since he entered the Void. Time seemed to have no meaning in this forsaken place. Hours may have passed, or even years. There wasn't even solid ground to stand on as Sauron continued to float within the darkness. There was nothing to see in the Void, although there was plenty to hear. The tormented cries sounded out constantly, mixed with Master Melkor's sinister laughter. It was the perfect punishment for anyone sent here.

_Why am I subject to this kind of torture? Master Melkor will catch me eventually even as I continue to run away. I don't want to think what will happen next…_

_ When Master Melkor was captured, I grew frightened and begged mercy from Eönwë. Even I myself know the fact that I didn't do it truly from my heart. If I had truly repented from, yes, I admit it, evils, things would have been different. But it is too late now. No one gets released from the Void even if they had been on good behavior for a thousand years…_

"Sauron!" Master Melkor called again.

He immediately tried to locate where the sound was coming from and sprang in the opposite direction.

"Sauron! Do not try to run away. I wish to speak to you." His voice resonated from everywhere.

_I got to get away from here somehow!_

Sauron collided headfirst into someone hard as he moved away again. Surprised and slightly dazed by the pain, he reacted too late as a hand reached out and grabbed him by the neck. He tried to pry the hand away, but its grip was as strong as iron. Breathing was becoming hard as the hand squeezed tightly.

"Not so hard…" Sauron choked out.

"You can run, Sauron, but you cannot hide." The deep voice said, amused.

_Foolish, I was! To have run into the clutches of Master Melkor himself!_

"It was getting quite lonely here in the Void, you know," The fallen Vala continued, "I could use some company. But I take it that you have been defeated by those pesky races of Middle-earth, hmm?"

"Yes," Sauron said quite timidly as Master Melkor's grip loosened a little, although he still couldn't see his face, "They had many tricks that I was unable to predict."

"But I trained you to plot and scheme, did I? You are a Maia, and they are only mortals! Even the Elves can be slain. Now what do I see here. You, Sauron Gorthaur, the greatest of the Maia stand defeated before me!" Master Melkor bellowed, shaking Sauron hard.

"I placed most of my powers in the One Ring…" Sauron said faintly, dizzied.

"You pathetic excuse of a servant! That action alone makes you even harder to stand against the Valar! Have you ever seen me placing my powers into some unworthy piece of jewelry?"

"No, Master Melkor"

"At least you still call me master. Observe my ways and learn from them, Sauron. I always wanted to either rule or destroy Arda. I had Balrogs and dragons under my command! No one stood before me!" Master Melkor continued to rant on.

Sauron decided not to remind him of the duel against Fingolfin and the time when he was dragged out of his fortress of the Valar.

"One day I will escape from the Void and wreck havoc on Arda again! The Ainur shall face my wrath as I avenge myself!" Master Melkor declared, and then seemed to look at Sauron intently, "And if you behave yourself and beg for mercy, I might let you back in as my lieutenant."

_Back at Master Melkor's service? Tempting, but no. I refuse to serve him again after his utter failure...along with mine. I refuse to be humiliated again in front of the Valar! Forget my fear for now!_

"I won't beg." Sauron blurted out before he could stop himself.

"Excuse me?"

He swallowed nervously. Spurred on by some unknown force, he continued to speak.

"I had had enough. I listened and followed you since you had so many promises of prosperity. But I didn't get that. Although you placed me in a high position, you mistreated me and tortured me. Although I worked so hard for you, we never received control of Arda. Instead we got brought down by the people of Middle-earth and got thrown in the Void!"

Master Melkor was silent, but Sauron could feel his burning gaze.

_What have I done now?! I would never in my right mind speak against Master Melkor!_

"You have grown reckless, Sauron. Do you have any other choice rather than joining me? There is no other place for you in Arda. The Valar will condemn you. The people of Middle-earth will fight against you. Even Eru Ilúvatar will reject you. Only I will still receive you generously into my service." The other hissed angrily.

_Although I hate to admit it, Master Melkor is right. I can turn to no one and I have no place in Arda. Eru Ilúvatar…I remember a little now. Was he the composer of the Great Music, the one who Master Melkor rebelled against?_

Wisely, Sauron remained silent.

"Now you shall pay the price for speaking up against me!" Master Melkor said grimly.

Sauron started to struggle harder. Usually the "price to pay" left him incapacitated for weeks. Master Melkor had a reputation for extremely painful and long lasting tortures.

The hand around his neck squeezed even tighter, soon cutting off Sauron's breath. He panicked, vainly trying to remove the choking hold. Excruciating pain suddenly seared through his entire body.

"Please, Master Melkor!" Sauron cried out, forgetting all dignity and pride, "I have wronged, please forgive me!"

The fallen Vala laughed, enjoying seeing his servant's agony.

"Cry all you want, Sauron. No one will help you. All inhabitants of the Void fear me. None of the Ainur will hear you and rescue you. I am the only one you can depend on!"

Sauron began to call out names in random, begging for them to save him from his torment. The Valar came first, as he petitioned for them to spare him. He cried out to Aulë and openly confessed his wrongdoings. Sauron even cried out to the Witch King and the Nazgûl, pleading for their forgiveness. All the while Master Melkor laughed throughout his torment. The sound seemed to drown out everything. It was becoming unbearable. Sauron knew that his mind would soon break if this torture continued. He was losing conscious already.

_Please, anybody. Help me! This can't go on! I submit. I admit that I have done wrong and that I should have turned back long ago._

Suddenly a name surfaced from the turmoil of sound and pain. Sauron seized it as his last hope and cried it out before he fell into blackness.

"Please save me, Lord Eru Ilúvatar!"

* * *

**Please review!**


	8. Unwilling Repentance

**Hello! Long time no see! I'm really sorry for again taking this long to post the next chapter. But the future chapters should come in quicker now that the school year is almost over. Plus this chapter was the hardest to write, and I might even go back to fix parts of it. Anyway, sorry for the wait (I got a violin audition to prepare for this week) and I hope you readers enjoy the newest chapter of Dawn of Another Day.**

**Many thanks to SJD042342, Lord Siravant, L. Byron, Juu50x, the unknown, Roma Eterna and Jason9000 for reviewing! You guys kept me going for a long time!**

**P.S. - Because it seems like some readers have some nice ideas for this story, I put up a forum especially for this purpose! I will try and respond regularly. Go and check it out: (.net/myforums/Jane_Lu/2423398/) -Add triple w's and then "fanfiction" before the .net-**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing in this story. It all belongs to J.R.R. Tolkien, whom I wonder how he will react when he sees this story...**

* * *

Sauron waited for the end as he expected the pain and torment to crush him into nothing.

But nothing happened.

He was still floating in darkness of the Void, it seemed. There was a difference though. Both Master Melkor's presence and the cries of the tormented had disappeared. Only Sauron was there alone.

_What happened? _He thought, _the only thing I did was to cry out a name. Surely I am still in the Void? Then where is Master Melkor? He never leaves a punishment unfinished._

Suddenly a pinpoint of light appeared in Sauron's vision. He blinked, surprised by the only thing he saw since entering the Void. It was growing steadily larger as it seemly got closer to him. Soon Sauron was floating in brilliant light. He squinted as it got even brighter, threatening to blind him. He hadn't seen such bright light since he entered the dark fortress of Utumno the first time. The light was starting to hurt. Just as it reached its zenith, the light faded away to reveal a grassy meadow.

Sauron came to himself lying in the light green grass beside a small pool. He sat up slowly and looked around. The sky was a clear blue with a few wisps of clouds floating lazily across it. The sun shed its soft warm light over everything. Grass spread as far as he could see, sometimes going over hills. The sound of chirping birds filled the air, accompanied by the rustling of the leaves of some sparse trees as the wind blew through them.

_Where am I? Am I in the Void? I doubt they have such a place like this. What just happened? Did the Valar really bring me out? Why?_

For the first time, Sauron noticed sheep grazing peacefully in the meadow.

_Eh? Where am I actually? To be honest, this place is not to my liking. It seems too peaceful. When was the last time when I stood in a grassy meadow like this?_

Sauron got up to his feet and caught the sight of his reflection in the pool. He nearly exclaimed in surprise. A young man clothed in a simple gray cloak and tunic stared back at him. He had shoulder-length light brown hair and clear gray eyes. A sorrowful expression was in his sharp features, seeming to reveal that he was older than he looked.

_That was the form I took back then when I could still shape shift! In fact, that was how I looked before I lost my body and the power to change my form. What is going on here? How did I gain back my body and appearance?_

"I wouldn't feel comfortable speaking with a black-hooded figure, will I?" A voice said plainly from behind.

Sauron spun around to face an old man sitting on a large rock. He was dressed in worn out robes that were completely faded in color. His hair and beard were both snow white. In one hand he held a long staff with a curved hook at the end.

"Who are you?" Sauron demanded, his nerves shaken.

"You remember me, Mairon; otherwise you wouldn't have called upon my name." The old man said serenely, leaning on his staff.

"You are probably one of the Valar that no one knows about and out of touch with everything. Mairon is no longer my name, and you are forbidden to call me so! Now I asked you a question, who are you?" Sauron was irritated by this feeble old man before him, who somehow had an air of superiority around him. Being used to ordering his servants around for such a long time, Sauron did not like that.

"I am who I am." The old man answered plainly.

Sauron had to restrain himself from striking out at the other. He snarled in frustration and kicked at the grass instead.

_Who is this person, that he should irritate me like this? Arrrgggh! Why am I brought here? To be subject to another of the Valar's antics?_

"Calm yourself, Mairon. You should have guessed by now who I am."

"Unfortunately, I do not." Sauron said vehemently, not about to calm down so easily, "At least tell me where I am right now. I was in the Void, and now I am here. What are you planning? To pass more judgment and verdicts on me? Spare your efforts. I am already beyond that."

"You would rather return to the Void to be with Melkor?"

Sauron had nothing to say for the first time. He turned away and clenched his fists.

_So I was brought out of the Void for some reason. Now what should I do with this old man? Maybe I should just go along with him for now. I will try to overwhelm him and make a break for it later._

"Of course not. What do you want with me then?" Sauron said stiffly, slowly turning around.

"So many questions, so many answers. I will answer them one by one later." The old man wasn't mad at all, "Do you mind if I start questioning you first? Tell me your motives for siding with Melkor, for I was ever curious about them."

Sauron felt another stab of irritation. Why was this Vala being so careful in his questionings? Who was he actually? Sauron had never met one of the Valar like this one, with a strange personality to match.

He put his thoughts and irritation aside and tried to concentrate on the question. He hated to remember the first years of serving Master Melkor and would rather not think of them. It consisted of the fallen Vala constantly torturing him as he struggled to learn his duties and the feelings of disappointment and regret. There was no way he could answer that with a straight face. Sauron turned upon the old man angrily.

"That will be none of your business!" He snapped.

"Yes, it is of my business." The old man said sternly. He seemed to grow in stature and height. The fields around them suddenly turned dark and threatening.

Sauron stepped backwards in shock. Never had he seen a Vala radiate such power. This was no ordinary Vala. In fact, he had never heard of such a powerful Ainu. For a moment, Sauron though he was going to submit, fall to his knees before this entity and beg for mercy. However, as quickly as it appeared, the pressure disappeared and everything returned to normal. The old man was again sitting serenely on his rock as if nothing had happened.

"Every Ainu's doings is of my concern, even Melkor and you who have chosen the ruinous path to the Void." He was suddenly weary.

_You ask too many questions, old man, and you prod at topics best left untouched._

"The Valar abandoned Middle-earth." Sauron said sourly, "They care nothing for it. They never came to intervene when we waged war against the races of the land. They never set foot upon it since Master Melkor was taken away. There was nothing they cared about. Master Melkor was right in saying that I do not have a choice in deciding my fate if I wanted to return to them."

"He promised prosperity and riches. He told me together we could bring Arda under our rule and make it the way we wanted it to be. I was first drawn to his opposition in the Ainulindalë. He created his own music and wove it in. I wanted to do that too…"

_No no no! _Sauron said to himself angrily, _What am I doing, pouring all my thoughts to this unknown Vala?_

"Surely you must know that only Lord Eru Ilúvatar can create." The old man asked thoughtfully, "But the Valar were always watching over Arda, even if they rarely set foot upon it themselves. They speak to the people living there. They sometimes affect events with their power. That was how you came to be defeated."

Sauron gave a non-committal grunt.

"I know of this Eru Ilúvatar. He was the one who composed the Music, was he not? He is worse than the Valar then. He was never heard from again after the creation of Arda. With him and the Valar out of the picture, I could do anything I wanted without having to worry about being dragged away like my master."

The old man was silent for a while. But after some time he spoke.

"I understand. One would feel disappointed that Lord Eru rarely interacts with his children, whom they serve. Tell me then, how did you feel while serving under your master? Was it why you chose Melkor over the Ainur?"

_Eh? What the…_

"What do you hope to achieve by asking me those questions, Mister I-am-who-I-am?" Sauron asked sarcastically.

"Why don't you sit down, Mairon? We have a long conversation ahead of us." The old man smiled.

Sauron faltered again.

_It is impossible to argue with him. What am I doing? Why is he asking me those questions? What good will he get out of it? I better play along for now._

* * *

_I sincerely hope this is worth my trouble. Under normal circumstances, this should have never happened. It is a severe blow to what remained of my pride as a Númenórean king. Why am I doing this again? What am I hoping to achieve?_

So thought the Witch King as he surveyed his surrounding warily. The still weary armies of the West loitered around, and everyone avoided where the Witch King was situated. Tents sprung up here and there as most people began to settle down for the night. Gandalf the Wizard had returned some time ago, bearing the Ring-bearer and his companion on one of the giant eagles. They were immediately taken away to be treated for their injuries. And the Witch King surrendered himself over to be taken captive.

_I must be out of my mind._

He allowed them to tie him tightly with chains and secured firmly to a vertical jutting rock. His hand-and-a-half sword was taken away. If the Witch King had his powers of sorcery, things would have been very different. Not for the first time, he wished that Ilúvatar hadn't chosen to take them away. But he couldn't explain that impulse that caused him to surrender himself. It felt like the right thing to do, even though it was extremely humiliating. He, Lord of the Nazgûl and former king of Númenor, was tied up in chains like a common prisoner.

_If Khamûl, Morgomir and Gothmog could see me now…Speaking of that, where are the other Nazgûl?_

The Witch King heard the leaders discussing what to do with him. The Númenórean descendant he discovered to be named Aragorn, who seemed to be the main leader. The elf who shot him he identified as Legolas. The dwarf was known as Gimli. The man with the symbol of a white swan was revealed as Imrahil and the Rohirric marshal Éomer. And there was Gandalf of course.

The wizard confused the Witch King greatly, just like Ilúvatar had. Gandalf had taken the liberty to speak with him a few times and even convinced Aragorn not to kill him straight away. He was one of those people who repaid bad reputation with kind words and actions, just like Ilúvatar had done. The Witch King kept feeling that he had seen Gandalf somewhere previously, before the hunt for the Ring.

The Witch King, despite his grim situation, enjoyed his new vision. He could now see everything with clarity like a living being. No more blurry grey vision and floating articles of clothing that a wraith saw. But he was mainly thinking about the other punishments that Ilúvatar had decreed upon him.

_I will be shunned and despised by the others? That is no big surprise. I am the Witch King of Angmar after all, servant of Sauron and leader of the Nine. I have a notorious reputation going ahead of me._

_ It is the part about memories that bother me the most though…_

Aragorn and the various leaders were now standing in a distance away from where the Witch King was tied. They were talking amongst themselves in low voices as they sometimes glanced over at his direction.

_ They are probably talking about what to do with me again._

The Witch King could catch a few words as suddenly their voices rose in volume.

"…we can't leave him here…can't…kill…" Aragorn's voice was heard.

"How…I thought…he…killed…" Éomer was heard speaking worriedly.

"This won't do…tomorrow…" Gandalf interrupted.

"I do not...like…one bit. We…stay long…" Imrahil said grimly

"We should kill him. He would eventually escape and bring ruin upon us all!" Legolas' voice was clearly heard as he shouted.

The elf was shushed hastily by the others. Eventually the group finished their discussion and moved away. The sky was growing dark, and soon the temporary camp settled down. Whispers and shuffling were occasionally heard, but all was quiet.

With nothing else to do, the Witch King turned his sight over towards Mordor. The armies of the West were currently encamped a few miles away from the Black Gate. He knew that they would have returned to Minas Tirith were it not for him. Now that they were forced to linger around the desolate wastelands around Mordor, they probably wanted to get rid of him as soon as possible. No one wanted to stay here long.

The Black Gates were in complete ruin, a heap of twisted metal among a pile of rubble. The constant red glow of Mount Doom was still seen as the collapsed volcano spewed lava across the various cracks of the land. Barad-dûr, like the Black Gate, was collapsed to one side, broken completely in half. The threatening presence of Sauron that loomed over the sky was mostly gone. Most importantly, the forsaken land was empty. Not a single orc, human, or other beast could be seen. Mordor was empty and destroyed. Sauron was finally defeated.

Yet something was not quite right.

The Witch King was always able to faintly sense the presence of another. Sauron he could sense the strongest, and that was why he was able to know that the Maia had entered his mind. It was now at this moment that he could sense vaguely the foreboding dark presence of the Dark Lord.

_It cannot be. Sauron is dead and gone. He cannot possibly be alive. But this presence is too strong to be a mere trace he left behind in Mordor._

Just as the Witch King was wondering what this could possibly mean, the shadow of a person suddenly drew in front of him.

* * *

"So you are Lord Eru Ilúvatar, the Creator who abandoned his creation." Sauron said stonily, "And you chose not to reveal your identity earlier?"

"For the last time, I never abandoned Arda like you described. You would have forgotten me completely if I had." Eru replied.

The Creator of Arda and the fallen Maia were now sitting side by side on the grass, the latter more than a little unwillingly.

"If I may add, you may rant all you want about Melkor if you like. No one will hear you except me." Eru added.

Sauron shot him a glare.

"I can read your thoughts, you know. But I prefer it if you told me personally."

"If you can read my thoughts, then surely you can read Master Melkor's." Sauron argued.

"You call me Lord Eru, yet you still call him Master Melkor." Eru sighed, "It is about time for you to decide which side you really belong to."

"Master Melkor said I have no choice but to turn to him." Sauron retorted. Suddenly he began to doubt those words.

_Is there really one place I could really turn to now? Is Master Melkor my only choice? Do I really have a choice? Will the Ainur still accept me after what I've done? Will Lord Eru accept me?_

"There is always a choice, Mairon." Eru said softly.

"Arrgghh! Stop reading my mind!" Sauron protested.

"Now, do you remember my previous question?"

"Which one? You asked at least a dozen since I arrived here."

"The one about your feelings while serving under Melkor."

Sauron felt as if Lord Eru was toying with him. But he remembered his plan to play along for now.

"I was disappointed…" Sauron admitted, and then suddenly stopped himself.

"You are doing it again!" He accused.

"Doing what?" Eru asked innocently.

"Making me say things I would never under any circumstance reveal to anyone!"

"I never did that. You are the one who is doing the speaking, or more accurately, you are speaking from your heart." Eru explained.

Sauron fell silent again. He was unwilling to speak more to his companion. He was also reluctant to say anything against Master Melkor. If he somehow heard of it, the consequences will be too terrible to think of.

_I am in a dilemma. _He realized. _I promised myself I would answer Lord Eru's questions for now. But I am unwilling to answer them. And what did he mean that there is always a choice? Does that mean that I could have remained on the Ainur's side? Does that mean that I could have refused instead of accepting Master Melkor's offer? No...no...what am I doing here? I am supposed to remain in the Void! What..._

"Your thoughts are in turmoil. It would be best for you to sort them out before speaking to me." Eru advised.

_Sort them out...thoughts..._Sauron clutched his head with both hands as he suddenly struggled against an overwhelming flow of thoughts.

_What is happening to me? This has never occurred before during my long life. No...Master Melkor. I followed him willingly...I fought his wars...continued his work after he was taken away...Why did I do that...I was afraid of him and his cruel punishments...I allowed fear to prevent myself from returning to the Valar...And I was defeated, and I saw him again...I tried to prevent that all my life, BUT I DOOMED MYSELF TO THE VOID ALL ALONG!_

_ Calm yourself. _He heard Eru faintly speak, seemly in his mind. _Remember my question._

_ How did I feel when I served Master Melkor? _Sauron finally began to think straight, when he discovered that he was more comfortable in speaking with his mind,_ I liked it. He gave me power enough to rival a Vala. I commanded his armies as his greatest servant and led them in battle. We enjoyed power over the people and their fear of us. I was content to do whatever he asked, even if it were to kill thousands. As long as I can stay in his favor and receive more power, I would do anything._

_ Hmm..._Eru mused.

_But it was not enough..._Sauron was again silent. He refused to speak more.

_You are afraid to continue? _Eru asked.

_What will happen if I do?_

_ Nothing. Melkor cannot read minds, nor can he enter here without my permission. Even if he does, my power far exceeds him, and I will send him back to the Void._

Sauron looked up at Eru, startled. Can he actually do something like that?

_I am the Creator, after all._

Sauron considered everything carefully. But before he could decide what he should say or not to say, he surprised himself in an outburst of frustration and anger.

"He disappointed me!" He shouted, forgetting to speak with his mind, "He said that we could have Middle-earth under our control in no time! But we had to deal with the people who tried to stop us. They were successful too, and I suffered many a times the outlet for his anger when I failed or lost a battle. He tortured me and punished me whenever I tried to argue. I started to hate him, and I feared him too. He told me many times if I wished to return to the Ainur that they would not accept me, and I only have him to turn to. You tell me, Eru Ilúvatar, was what he said true or not? If it is, then what am I doing here? If it is not, then was all my work alone in Middle-earth all for naught?"

"And finally you speak," Eru seemed to be relieved; "It took you long enough, hmm?"

Sauron, who was panting from his long tirade, looked horrified for a moment.

"Yes, I would have accepted you back among the Ainur. The Valar would have done so too, although they will give you a punishment. It gave you no reason to not return to them, to me. Why didn't you do so then?" Eru's tone changed abruptly.

At the same moment, Sauron was suddenly aware of the change. The old man was formerly speaking to him as a comrade or a friend. Now he was speaking as a disappointed father or a displeased mentor. It unnerved him greatly.

_Now what? _He thought stubbornly, reverting back to his old self now that he saw nothing had happened after he finished his tirade, _I get another answer forced out of me unwillingly?_

_ "_I _thought _the Valar would immediately send me to the Void." He said obstinately, standing up to face Eru, "And I did not wish for that to happen. You do not know what Master Melkor is capable of. You will never know of the pain he could inflict. Do you think I would actually _surrender _myself to that kind of torture? I think not. The Valar never showed a display of mercy anyway. Why should they spare me, the greatest servant of Master Melkor? I can say that they are cruel as he is..."

"You blame the Valar, but the fault is within yourself. I was patient with you from the very beginning, but you are starting to try it. Your pride was what caused your downfall, and it caused you to be the fallen Maia you are today. Had you bent your pride a little, you would have been sitting among the Maiar again. I will tell you the truth, and I will tell it directly. You have no one to blame but yourself for your downfall. You feared Melkor and wished to be free from his service. The chance came when he was placed in the Timeless Void, and you never took it. Instead you tried to remain in Middle-earth, and to continue his work. If it wasn't your pride that caused you to do that, then what was it?" Eru said sternly.

Sauron had to use all his strength to resist the urge to fall down on his knees, weeping before this powerful being. The overwhelming power was there again, and he could literally feel it pressing down upon him.

_My pride...caused my downfall? I thought it was fear of Master Melkor. Then was it my entire fault? No...I have never faced a decision like this for a long time. It was like when Master Melkor made that offer. Now I have to do it again...No...no...What should I do?_

"Confound it, Eru!" He managed to shout, "Confound it! For thousands of years I bore the pressure of the people fighting against me and Master Melkor's threats. For years I thought about the fateful decision that bound me under his service! And now you give to me another offer?"

_No choice, this is! I either go back to Master Melkor and suffer again, or I wait and see what Eru will do._

"I admit it then. My pride caused my downfall, and I am the one to blame. Fine then! A choice you did not give me. It is either back to the Void or to stay here, and I prefer the latter."

_This better be worth it..._

_ "_I no longer serve that fallen Vala. You satisfied?" Sauron said angrily, brandishing both arms dramatically.

There was a long silence as the pressure faded slowly. The old man turned to look at Sauron carefully in the eye.

"About time too," Eru said wearily, "You waited long enough."

The weight of his newly made decision fell on Sauron quite suddenly. He sat down heavily on the grass.

_Well, decision made. At least I probably won't have to return to the Void._

"What am I doing here then? Why go through all that trouble in bringing me here and giving me a lecture?"

"Hmm..." Eru was thinking again. He stood up and beckoned to one of the sheep. It trotted over contently, and the Creator stroked its snow white fleece gently.

"Every one of the Ainur is like the sheep in this field, Mairon." Eru said wistfully.

Sauron was about to object that comparing the Ainur to mere animals was a rather disgraceful thing to do when he thought better of it, and stayed silent.

"Let's say, there are a hundred of those sheep in this field under my watch and guidance. As the shepherd, I guide them to pastures to graze. They are interesting animals, unable to find fresh grass for themselves unless a shepherd guides them. But there are times when one sheep gets lost."

Sauron began to wonder what does sheep have to do with being brought to this place.

"In that case, I will leave the rest of the sheep to go looking for the lost one. _And I will not rest until it is safely back among the flock._"

Sauron suddenly understood everything.

"You mean, I am the lost sheep?" He asked slowly.

Eru nodded.

"And you were searching for me?" He asked disbelievingly.

"You were a mighty hard sheep to find." Eru replied truthfully.

_Strange, this feeling is...to be actually sought after, to have someone actually caring about me...Hmph...like I would care about it. But I must admit it that I am surprised to hear that. Surely..._

The two sat in silence for awhile, as Sauron struggled to comprehend this new information and display of mercy. He still found it hard to accept that he was no longer under Master Melkor's service, although he didn't truly have a choice.

_That was actually easier than I thought. Now what should I do now? I better abandon that plan of overwhelming Eru and making a break for it. Will he really send me back to the Void after this?_

"You are not going to send me back to the Void, aren't you?" Sauron inquired almost fearfully.

"You wish to go back?"

"No!" Sauron quickly denied, "I was just wondering that what I should do now."

"I got a better idea." Eru declared, "Why don't you go back to Middle-earth? Only this time, you get to make your own way in the land, your own new beginning. Of course, you can choose whether you want to stay against the people or not. I am eager to see what you would do there."

"Me? Go back? But..."

"Of course you won't be alone. The Witch King of Angmar would be there too."

"He survived? How..."

"And you get to keep your physical from you have right now."

"Really? So..."

"But I will be taking away most of your Maia powers. " Eru interrupted.

"What? No!" Sauron protested, also annoyed at being interrupted three times in a row.

"You will continue to struggle against your conscience, fear and former self, Mairon, alongside with dealing the people who will always shun and despise you. You will retain your name, always as an abhorrence and abomination to the people of Arda until the day you can bend your pride. Surely you did not expect to get away without a punishment."

_But this is much better than being thrown in to the Void again or enduring one of Master Melkor's punishments._

"You will have to stop calling him that." Eru pointed out.

"For the last time, stop reading my mind. I had no other choice but to turn to you. But that does not mean that I did it willingly." Sauron growled.

Eru sighed, "I will try not to, then. As for the choice of turning back, I am already content that you made it. The rest is up to you. As surely as you had made the choice to tread on the ruinous path to the Void, surely you can choose a new path that leads to the light. However, a test shall be prepared for you. You will need to be firm about your choice if you wish to pass it."

_Up to me? What does that mean? What about a "choice"? I never had one in the first place. And now there is a test? How very like of Eru to do that..._

"But why are you sending me back? There must be a purpose."

"You do know the reason why. The key lies in the prophecies of Námo." Eru hinted.

Before Sauron could reply, the grassy meadows suddenly vanished in a swirl of colors, along with the old man sitting serenely on his rock, still stroking the sheep. He was left standing alone in the tumult of color and the sound of rushing wind. Faintly he could already see the shores of the land of Middle-earth.

_I am not ready...I don't even know what is going on...The people will surely receive a nasty surprise when they hear that I had come back, to do what? The Witch King will certainly try to kill me on sight if I happen to meet him..._

_ I never had a choice. I never had a choice but to turn to Lord Eru, even though I do not desire it. I never had a choice. _Sauron tried to convince himself over and over despite what Eru said as the land of Middle-earth got clearer.

* * *

**Please review and keep this story alive!**


	9. Fighting Against Temptations

**The reason why this chapter took so long is because it _is_ long! _Fighting Against Temptations_ rivals _Unwilling Repentance_ in terms of difficulties, not to mention that I am going into uncharted waters right now. From now on this story is a AU, written and planned out completely by yours truly. As school starts, I would be busy again. (Sigh...)**

**Honestly, this part is an early idea of mine. So I am unwilling to give it up even though I had other ideas. Yeah...this chapter may seem strange to some...But I am satisfied with it.**

**Anyway, I made major changes to the previous chapters. Dialogue revisions, new events and stuff are all added! You may go back and read them all if you want. But here's a short list of the changes:**

**1. An account concerning the Witch King's collection of books.**

**2. A brief crossing of swords between the Witch King and Khamûl.**

**3. An account of Sauron's management of diplomatic affairs and his displeasure in desk work.**

**4. The Nazgûl's encounter with Wormtongue during the Hunt for the Ring.**

**5. Sauron's defeat at the hands of the Witch King in his mind in a painful way.**

**6. A brief exchanging of words (I mean really really brief) between the Witch King and Éowyn before his death.**

**7. Sauron's attempt to save the Witch King from death and his refusal.**

**8. Eldánon the Maia's display of Valarin.**

**9. Ilúvatar's production of a certain document that makes the Witch King less than pleased.**

**10. ...and loads of other changes I can't remember right now. Why don't you find them out?**

**I drew a piece of art relating to this story! Visit my profile and click on my deviantart link to check it out! I also wrote a new tie-in story to this called _The Price of a Free Mind_. It concerns the how Witch King reacted to the drowning of Númenor and how he started his rebellion against Sauron.**

**Loads of thanks to _SJD042342_, _Lord Siravant_, _L. Byron_, _Jason9000_ and _Juu50x_ for reviewing! Also thanks to those who had favorited and subscribed to this story!**

**Disclaimer: Sadly, nothing but the plot belongs to me. The great J.R.R. Tolkien owns all!**

* * *

"Show yourself, stranger!" The Witch King shouted at the approaching shadow.

Since he was captured, he was on alert at all times. The loss of his powers of sorcery did not help at all. For the first time in his long life, the Witch King felt truly helpless and defenseless as he found himself unable to fight back or control his situation. All his previous misgivings about the possibility that Sauron was still alive vanished as he faced the unknown figure. Finally, the figure drew close enough for the Witch King to see his face. It was Gandalf, looking rather worried and furious at the same time.

"Are you responsible for this?" He asked harshly, brandishing his staff.

The Witch King did a double take. Didn't Gandalf help him earlier by suggesting to Aragorn that he shouldn't be disposed of immediately? Wasn't he the one who released him from the spell of binding when he mentioned the name Ilúvatar? Then he was suddenly hostile to him?

"Pardon me?" The Witch King asked, confused.

"It is futile to hide your secrets," Gandalf insisted, "I do not know what you did, but Sauron's presence is back. Are you responsible for it somehow?"

_He could feel it too? That would not be surprising, for he is a Maia also. Of course he would blame it on me. I was a servant of Sauron after all._

"I would appreciate it if you understood the situation more before accusing me," The Witch King was irritated as he faced another difficult situation, "I forced myself to stay alive to see Sauron defeated. Why would I help him to return to Middle-earth when after thousands of years, it was finally done?"

Gandalf was silent for awhile as he processed this information.

"I cannot completely trust your words," He said finally, "But if you are not responsible, then where did the presence of Sauron come from? Or more importantly, how?"

_At least he reacted better than most of the others. I should be grateful that he believed me._

"It is coming from the ruins of the Black Gate." The Witch King replied.

"Then I will go there to investigate, and you are coming with me." Gandalf said shortly.

Here was another great surprise the Witch King faced since he returned. In fact, he was now receiving more surprises than he liked.

_ He is asking me to come? Why? But wouldn't that..._

"The leaders will not be pleased if I am released by you. They might brand you as a traitor." He pointed out.

Gandalf sighed, "I do not like this as much as you do, but I am willing to take the risk. This fight is no longer of Aragorn's and his companions' to take part in. They had done enough already and deserve a rest now that enemy is seemly defeated. It would be most cruel for them to be informed that the enemy they fought so hard against survived. If Sauron is still lurking out there somewhere, it is our best interest to investigate and dispose of him immediately. It would be easier for us to do so now that he has lost most of his power."

"I will require aid, and you are the only one here I know of who can confront Sauron directly. I wouldn't have chosen you if I had an alternative." The Wizard added as the Witch King was about to protest again.

_Hmm...should I accept his request? I better do so, since I am also curious about that presence. Besides, I refuse to stay tied up like this._

"Very well then, I will accompany you. I expect you to have a plan when the others discover that we are gone." The Witch King decided.

"I will tell them the truth," Gandalf promised as he unlocked the chains and dropped them, "All of us wish to see Sauron completely defeated and gone from Middle-earth. If you would help us in that, I am sure that they would make an exception. By the way, here is your sword. It was made with skilled hands, one of the finest I had ever seen."

The Witch King accepted it and studied it closely now that Gandalf mentioned it. He had never named it since he received it. The sword was rather plain, with a black double-edged blade, a simple straight cross guard and a hand-and-a-half hilt wrapped in black leather. Come to think of it, the Witch King had never honed his sword, for it always stayed sharp and whole.

"Sauron forged the sword." He suddenly remembered, "He gave them to us when the Nazgûl first came under his service."

The Witch King now looked at his sword with distaste, longing to fling it away. But he wisely decided against it when he saw that he had no other weapon.

"Did he?" Gandalf asked thoughtfully, "I thought..."

The Wizard was silent for awhile as he mused.

_Now what is so significant about that?_

"The presence is getting stronger." The Witch King reminded.

"Oh, yes. We must hurry." Gandalf agreed.

With that, the unlikely pair set off hurriedly towards the direction of the Black Gate.

* * *

Sauron opened his eyes, only to see a stormy gray sky tinted with red. It seemed to be getting late, for the only source of light came from a strange reddish glow that bathed everything in a shade of crimson.

He groaned and sat upright on the stony ground. How long had he been lying there? His back hurt and his body was stiff.

_Eru did fulfill his promise then. I have my body back...along with the same bothersome physical needs and pains mortals have. Ugghh...where exactly am I?_

He smelled the familiar odor of burning sulfur.

_Close to Mordor, no doubt._

Sauron stood up slowly, leaning on a conveniently placed rock as he did so. He studied his thin hands, which were now black streaked with soot. He was still wearing the grey cloak and tunic he had on back at the pasture.

_Heh...now I have to get used to having a physical form that can be actually harmed, along with being almost completely powerless. Eru would never restore to me the powers I desire most._

He saw the ruins of the Black Gate in a distance.

_What in the world?_

He managed to make his way over to the twisted metal ruin and looked inside.

_My realm! What happened to my realm?_

True enough, Mordor was in complete ruin with no soul in sight. There was no building or structure left intact.

_Barad-dûr...I spent six centuries building that fortress with the power of my Ring! All gone..._

Sauron allowed himself to collapse sitting on the ground again he looked at the ruins. He picked a stray piece of metal that had once been part of the Black Gates and studied it forlornly.

_At least two Ages of work...all reduced to ruins within a day. I suppose Eru was right again, that all my efforts were in vain. Curse him...why is he always right? What did he mean by saying that I have a choice? I had none back then at the pasture. Either I submit to his suggestions, or I get sent back to the Void. Did I truly have a choice in all things I had done?_

Unknowingly, Sauron began to think of the past deeds he had done.

_Turning to my master in the first place, leading his battles, that incident in __Tol-in-Gaurhoth, going to the Eregion Elves as Annatar, forging the Rings of Power, corrupting nine mortal men to become the Nazgûl..._

He thought that if all of them, counting the many unimportant ones that were not recorded in the history of Middle-earth, were written down, it would make a very thick volume indeed.

_How many times must I convince myself that I did not have a choice? _Sauron thought angrily as he stood up again, turning his back on his now ruined realm and walking away a few yards,_ I wanted to dominate Middle-earth and its races, did I? I wanted to stay in the land as long as I could without being taken to the West. I worked diligently to advance my goal and subdued those who tried to stop me. And I got defeated, humiliated and sent to the Void because of that._

_ Then that means I could have avoided all this in the first place._

He cast the metal shard to the ground in frustration. There was a sharp crack as it struck, breaking the still silence.

_ Hmph...Eru is correct again. I chose to walk on the path to the Void myself after all. Argghh! I want to say that I never had a choice, find someone to blame on and be done with it! I curse my situation, my choice and the Valar! Curse everything! What am I here for again, stripped completely of my powers and unable to do anything? Does Eru wish to see me struggle along and suffer for his own amusement?_

_**Master Melkor can nullify his power and restore you...**_

"Who speaks?" Sauron immediately turned around startled as a very familiar voice was heard.

He did not recognize it, but he felt that he had known it for a long time now. The possibilities of the speaker leapt into his mind quickly.

_It is not...him, isn't it. He would never refer to himself in third person._

_**He can make you prosperous again. He can restore your Maia powers so you no longer have to remain powerless.**_

"Be silent, whoever you are!" Sauron was instantly on guard as he looked frantically around. For some reason the voice was making him uneasy.

_**Turn to him, and both of you will rule Middle-earth. Submit to him, and you shall have your revenge on those who defeated you.**_

"Show yourself now!" Sauron shouted loudly.

_Who is this speaker then? He speaks of the desires I have. But I do not wish to achieve them with the help of my master, especially not after what happened at the War of Wrath..._

There was a silence, and Sauron finally realized that the voice came from his own mind when he discovered that there was no one in sight.

_**I am your desires, your fears, and your former self. I am the one who will test you for your loyalty. I am the one who will try your endurance.**_

There was a silence as the voice temporarily stopped.

_**I am you, Sauron Gorthaur, and I will tempt you always until you submit.**_

Sauron groaned in frustration as he gave up searching for the speaker. If being stripped of most of his powers were not bad enough, now he had an annoying voice in his mind to deal with.

At the same time, a tall ominous shadow emerged seemly out of nowhere.

* * *

_Again, I must ask myself. What am I doing? Am I supposed to side with those people? What about the Nine? I am especially concerned what had befallen Herumor, Fuinur and Eärnur since Sauron's Ring was destroyed. _So thought the Witch King as he strode quickly over the desolate landscape around Mordor. He could hear Gandalf struggling to keep up on the punishing pace.

The two hurried along for awhile in silence, navigating the treacherous ground full of small pebbles and uneven areas. Everything was silent and still, save for the sound of their footsteps.

"A question I had been waiting to ask you," Gandalf stated, suddenly catching up, "You rebelled against Sauron while still under his service, correct?"

"And how does that concern you?" The Witch King answered with another question while wondering why the Wizard brought up that particular topic out of all things.

"I was very curious about that. You see, I know of the battle you fought at Minas Morgul. I never found out the cause for it. I also saw your attempts to help Gondor during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields and the Battle of the Morannan. You had surprised me greatly many times"

"You did?" The Witch King was surprised, "Sauron tried his best to keep that event from being known. I thought also that I had hid my plan to help rather well."

"I have my methods." Gandalf said mysteriously.

"I wondered about your loyalty since then," He continued, "You are one of the greatest and most terrible servants of Sauron, yet you are sometimes not what you appear to be. I wonder why?"

There was another silence, and he could sense Gandalf waiting patiently for him to answer. However, the Witch King chose to remain unspeaking. He rarely spoke of his past with another and certainly did not wish to start now.

"...You wonder much, Wizard," The Witch King finally responded, "The path I had treaded on was not lenient to me. But I was willing to pay the heavy price of rebellion. Sauron has gone beyond his boundaries, and I will not stand at one side watching idly while he destroys Middle-earth."

Gandalf studied the wraith again intently and mused for awhile.

"You are one intriguing character. If time allows, I would like to find out more about your encounter with Lord Eru. His doings always have a greater purpose, and I trust that he had a very good reason to send one as you back." Gandalf studied the Witch King closely, his bushy eyebrows knitted together in a frown.

"I do not know the..." The Witch King began.

"Save your words for later," Gandalf suddenly pointed with his staff when they arrived right in front of the Black Gates, "Our trek was not in vain. There is someone there."

Sure enough, there was the figure of a young man cloaked in gray. His shoulder length hair whipped around as he frantically looked for seemly signs of danger. He suddenly tripped on a loose stone and fell flat on his face with an exclamation of surprise.

"Who is that?" The Witch King asked curiously.

_That man...looks horribly familiar. I felt I had seen him somewhere before. What is anyone doing around the ruins of Mordor anyway? He is certainly acting suspicious._

"Someone you should recognize," Gandalf replied cautiously, "Be on your guard!"

_Who is he talking about? Do I truly know him?_

Nevertheless, the Witch King laid a hand on the hilt of his sword while Gandalf readied his staff.

A foreboding presence fell on everything at the same moment.

The Witch King immediately drew his weapon with a steely rasp. He could still remember the time when he defeated all the orcs and subdued the Nazgûl on that day in Minas Morgul. He thought he did not have to fight anymore when this same presence showed itself, accompanied by the tall armored from of Sauron. He was still alive, and possibly closer than he thought.

"Sauron is here." The Witch King hissed.

"So he is." Gandalf said grimly.

_Clank..._

The sound of armored boots striking the stone ground.

They grew louder with each step.

_Clank...Clank..._

The young man was now near panic. He ran for it suddenly, stumbling over the uneven ground erratically. A familiar tall armored figure emerged from behind him and swung its mace, missing the man only by an inch. There was a small explosion of dust and shards of rock as the mace made a crater in the ground.

"It cannot be...!" The Witch King exclaimed.

"Impossible..." Gandalf whispered.

* * *

Sauron nearly tripped himself over again as he ran. He was still unused to his new body that actually _hurt _when he fell. But he had not recovered from his horror of seeing the former physical form he took appear and attack him for no reason. It had emerged seemly from nowhere and surprised him greatly. Here Sauron was, without weapons and power, trying to run away from himself.

_**You can run, but I will always exist in your mind. **_The voice intoned again.

_Silence! _Sauron yelled back at it, _You are only a figment of my imagination. How is it possible that you have taken physical form?_

_**That would be none of your concern, **_The figure pointed his mace, _**My role is to test you.**_

_If I had my former powers, I would have blasted you into oblivion already! _Sauron retorted.

_**But you do not.**_

"Young man! It would be prudent of you to leave this area immediately. We will handle him." Sauron heard another familiar voice ring out through the air. He turned to look at it, and saw the Witch King of Angmar along with Olórin the Maia standing in some distance away.

_He _is _alive, just as Eru had hinted and confirming what I saw during the Battle of the Morannan! He must have got sent back also... What is he doing here along with Olórin then?_

Sauron was almost glad to see a familiar face. However, he immediately grew suspicious.

_The Witch King offers to help the master he despised? It would take the filling of the Void for that to happen! And that degrading title "young man"? I existed since the beginning of Time! Anyone would have known that!_

Sauron almost laughed wryly right here and then.

_He does not remember who I am. If he did, I am certain that he would be the first one to come at me. However, I do not need the Witch King's help to make this situation worse. He would certainly get in my way._

Sauron stood his ground and faced the armored figure, ignoring the two behind him. He heard running footsteps behind him as the Witch King rushed at his opponent with his sword. He slashed in a wide arc, but the blade glanced off the armor _without_ touching it. Sauron could sense the Witch King's alarm as he tried again, his blade again bounced off without touching the figure.

_**Their efforts are futile, for my business is only with you. I am, after all, part of your imagination.**_

_Then I command you to be gone! I have no need to have you following me around like this._

_**Things are not that simple. You must past the test first.**_

He saw Olórin raise his staff and call a ball of fire to strike the armored figure, which also never hit it.

_So I have to fight this thing, why? It claims to be myself. Is this what Eru meant when he mentioned my former self bothering me? This is much more than bothering! I have no doubt that it will attempt on my life without hesitation. That voice also mentioned a test. Is this the test? To fight it? Hmph...pathetic._

_**A fight? You amuse me as always, Sauron. Perhaps one can be arranged after your pesky companions are gotten out of the way.**_

_You, be silent and mock me no longer! You mentioned the test, and I will pass it! No one mocks Sauron the Maia himself and gets away with it._

The figure swung its mace and forced the Witch King back a few yards as he blocked barely in time. The persistent wraith tried one more time in a last rush. Annoyed at his pitiful attempts to attack the figure, Sauron carelessly put out his foot and tripped his former servant as he went past him. He fell unceremoniously with a heavy crash.

"What are you thinking?" The Witch King got up angrily, "I see you wish to forfeit your life."

Noticing just now, Sauron discovered that he could not see the face of the wraith under his hood. Formerly he could see into the world of the Unseen and perceived the Nazgûl as they had been when they fell into shadow. Now there was nothing at all after losing his power. However even while invisible, Sauron could feel the Witch King's furious stare burning at him.

"Same old Witch King of Angmar," Sauron met it evenly, "Always rushing into fights headfirst without thinking."

The other withdrew backwards in shock, but then recovered quickly and pointed his sword at Sauron.

"You!" The Witch King recognized.

* * *

In a flash, the Witch King had seen this same face again before him in the royal courts of Númenor. That same youthful face held a proud countenance, an expression of smugness as if he knew he had won. The stranger who wore that same face had claimed to be Annatar, the lord of gifts, and offered him that accursed ring which bound the Witch King under his service. This form was also the one Sauron took most frequently before he lost his body, albeit at least one head taller. He was much shorter than the Witch King, and looked much less imposing. Sauron's voice was also of a youth's, which he found hard to associate with the black hooded figure who spoke in a deep echoing voice always.

"You are Sauron!" He realized in horror, "I thought you perished along with your Ring!"

"So says the one whom I saw fighting at the Battle of the Black Gates _after _I watched him die. We meet again in Middle-earth." The young man, now revealed as Sauron, said loftily.

_If this is Sauron, then who is that armored figure? Sauron also? If sensing his presence is not bad enough, there are now two of him!_

As if on cue, the figure's mace descended upon the both of them. The Witch King chose wisely to dodge away while Sauron leaped safely to one side.

"A being of your intellect would have known already. Have you ever heard that one speak since your arrival?" Sauron pointed out.

_Much as I loath to admit it, he is correct. That armor has not uttered a word, something the real Sauron would have never done. I should have realized the truth the moment he tripped me. It was something he would have done..._

_ None of this makes sense again. Sauron should have perished when the Ring was destroyed. I saw the destruction of Mordor and his flaming eye go out. Perhaps he did survive in some miracle. But then, how did he get back his physical form? Does that mean that all I had done in the past, rebelling against him and all that, were all in vain?_

_ No matter. Sauron lives yet again, and he must be destroyed. It would not bide well for the people of Middle-earth if they have to wage war with him a second time. Too many sacrifices were made to insure his defeat, and now it is all for naught. It is time to end this once and for all! I had suffered too much under his service to allow Sauron's life pass beneath my hands!_

The Witch King chose not to reply and turned his sword upon Sauron. The other gave a startled cry of surprise, swerving away just in time. However, Sauron lost his balance again and fell as the armored figure's mace descended on him without a second's hesitation. Sauron rolled away to avoid the worst of the blow, but was sent tumbling from the resulting shockwave. He landed a few yards away and didn't move.

The Witch King couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt as he considered that the Maia already had a deadly opponent against him and had no available methods to defend himself. After all, he would also be reluctant to face the same situation of his own.

_This is Sauron! _He reasoned angrily,_ He deserves no mercy or pity. He deserves not even the final release of death! Away he must be done with!_

Spurred on by his decision, the Witch King ignored the figure's swipe of its mace and headed toward the immobile form of the real Sauron. He failed to notice the mace swinging back horizontally until it was too late. The Witch King was sent skidding painfully across the rocky ground as the mace scored a direct hit. Winded but not knocked out of commission, he recovered himself and headed for Sauron again. But about ten yards from his opponent, the Witch King was unable to continue on. He reached out a hand to meet an invisible resistance in the air.

"That would be a barrier spell," Gandalf had come to join him, "I am afraid that this is more serious than I thought. He actually came back, but how? He possesses his physical body also..."

"You knew." Something in the Wizard's voice revealed the truth.

"You could say that. But I was perplexed also. Sauron used both forms in his lifetime frequently."

"Why was I not warned?" The Witch King asked coldly.

"I did," Gandalf defended, "I told you that the young man was someone you might know. Now it would be useless to rush in and attack directly because of the barrier. We might just have to see what happens next..."

* * *

The Maia had tried limping away in a desperate attempt to flee after deciding that the armored figure was becoming an obvious threat he could not fight, but he was stopped by an invisible barrier spell. Now Sauron was now trapped, powerless and without any form of defense to ward off that armored figure. He had also previously twisted his foot as he was sent tumbling from that same weapon, and now it hurt every time he took a step. The cloak tangled up in his legs again and he untied it hastily. It was best to move around without such hindrance.

_If this is Eru's sense of humor, then I do not find it amusing. Sending my "darker side" to harass me? I have no doubt that it would try to attempt on my life sooner or later. _Sauron thought indignantly as he confronted the armored figure again.

_**You could avoid this fate by turning once again to Master Melkor.**_

_And allow him to continue the torture he planned for me in the Void? I think not._

_**Oh, he will be merciful if you would humble yourself before him. Even though the Vala had always been merciless in his punishments, he is also quick to forgive.**_

_You blaspheme. The Valar would have to leave Aman before Melkor would ever become forgiving and kind._

The figure brutally smashed the mace on the ground next to Sauron. He was sent flying again from the impact and landed on his twisted foot. Sauron grimaced as pain jolted up his leg. For a moment he wished he was still disembodied, unable to be injured, harmed or even to feel pain.

The figure extended its gauntleted hand, seemly as if to offer him a proposition.

_**You are making this hard on yourself. Why do you resist the secret desires you have? There is no harm in submitting to them.**_

_What secret desires?_

_**You want to have your power back. You want to be restored to your former glory. All this could come into being, if only you submit to Master Melkor. Do so, and you can be free from your current situation. Why do you insist in refusing Master Melkor's gracious offers? The Ainur would never accept you back among their ranks or treat you equally. You would always be a wandering traveler like that old fool Olórin, helping the various races in their petty troubles. Is that what you truly want? I highly doubt it.**_

_How do I know if you are telling the truth? What if it was all a hoax?_

_**I speak the truth. You know the hour of Dagor Dagorath will befall one day. On that day you will be restored if you would only submit!**_

Sauron stood, leaning on his good foot as he considered his choices. He did, as the voice had indicated, desire to have his power back. He hated being powerless like this with nothing under his command. He hated that he was humiliated before the Valar when he was defeated. And Sauron knew that he had nothing to look forward to or to do in Middle-earth, that he was doomed to wander the land without purpose.

_Why me? Why did Eru send me back for no reason? Would it be better if I turned back to my master again? It is true that the Ainur could never accept me back among their ranks and still speak to me kindly, now that I am completely powerless? But I could have my power back somehow if I went to my master. Oh, the glory and might I possessed during the First Age! Vast armies under my command and the ability to do anything I wanted. Then I could rebuild Mordor and establish myself better than I did before. Probably I could become even more powerful than he. I could wreak havoc on those who had defeated me and avenge myself! All this could come true, if only I could submit..._

_**You are finally beginning to see sense.**_

_Tempting...if only...if only...I do want to have my revenge on that halfling who destroyed my Ring._

That particular idea was very appealing to Sauron. He was already considering the tortures he would inflict on his enemies with his new power. Infinite power could be in his grasp by a mere word of acceptance!

_Surely it would hurt not to agree. Compromise, perhaps I could? Maybe my former master would be especially relenting..._

"I accept..." Sauron began, but then stopped himself when a sudden thought came into his mind.

_What about Eru? What would he say?_

Tried as he can, the Maia couldn't forget the Creator's words. He felt a wave of guilt overcome him and started to regret his unfinished decision. In truth, Sauron feared Eru along with Melkor. But with Eru it was a reverent fear, not one of terror that forced him to serve his former master. Sauron can regain his power and former glory by turning to Melkor again, but what would Eru say?

What would Eru say?

He could imagine the Creator of Arda shaking his head in disappointment.

_"I gave you a second chance and showed my mercy towards you when you should had been sent to the Void. Then you returned to your old ways as soon as you were sent back? Sauron, you had caused much grief in me." _He could even hear his voice in his mind. Soon he heard something in the Creator's words that was out of the ordinary.

Eru had called him by the name Sauron, which he had never done before.

Sauron clutched his head with one head and gritted his teeth in frustration. Try as he might, he could not _think _of riches and power now that he thought of Eru's reaction, let alone submit to the temptations assailing him. Sauron realized a disappointed Eru was even more potent than when he was wrathful. For some reason, Eru had brought him face to face to his long forgotten conscience and the emotions he had buried deeply in his service to Morgoth. Sauron could not bring himself to return to his old ways without feeling that confounded guilt and remorse.

_I will have Eru to answer to if I returned to Melkor._

_**Never mind him. This decision does not concern him.**_

_Of course it does! Have you seen his wrath when I denounced the Valar? I think not. More potent and terrible than the might of Melkor it was! He said he sent me back to give me another chance. I doubt he meant me returning to my former master and rebuilding Mordor with my new powers. Eru gave me a new physical form! It would be a poor way to use it to continue in Melkor's works._

_**Cease this immediately! **_The voice suddenly increased dramatically in volume. Sauron futilely covered his ears until he remembered it came from his mind.

_**He is a deceiver. He never fulfills his promises. He abandoned Middle-earth and was never heard from again. He was powerless to stop Master Melkor when he rebelled.**_

Sauron slowly uncovered his ears and studied the figure again, who was now brandishing its mace menacingly. He felt anger well up inside of him as he heard more lies spoken by his darker side.

_Silence! _Sauron said coldly, _I refuse to submit, and you will have to take drastic measures to force me to._

There was a long silence as both eyed each other warily.

_**So be it, Sauron. You will die for your foolish choice.**_

Sauron managed to dive to one side as the mace swept over his head. However, it was followed right away ruthlessly by the sword. He managed to dodge most strikes as swiftly as he could on one twisted foot, leaping away and flinging himself back and forth. Suddenly, the mace came towards Sauron's left, too fast to be avoided. He did the only thing he could at the moment and thrust up his left arm in a desperate attempt to prevent himself from being sent flying again.

There was a sickening crack as the mace struck. Sauron gave a cry of pain and was sent staggering from the blow. His left arm now hung in a strange angle, broken completely and useless. The pain burned worse than his foot and almost rendered him unconscious. For a moment Sauron struggled to stand as his vision flickered black. He finally stumbled to his knees, gasping in exertion. Sauron had gone through plenty of pain before under Melkor's service. But he had a nearly indestructible form that recovered from injuries with abnormal speed, not to mention that he was almost at his full power at that time. However, here Sauron was, with a powerless mortal body subject to wounds and _still _without a weapon.

_Death has no hold on me if I do not allow it to. I laugh in the face of it! I stand up and defy it! It is not death that I fear, but what will follow it. If I truly died here now, I would be sent again before the Valar and be humiliated. Again I would be thrown into the Void! Besides, I highly doubt my former master would allow me to get away this time. I would rather give up my control of Mordor than to have all that happen again!_

_ Eru, you got me into this mess. You better be responsible for getting me out._

The figure stabbed its sword toward Sauron. He was unable to dodge now as he cradled his broken arm. The sword descended on his head at the same moment as suddenly he swept up his good hand by instinct.

A trail of light was traced where Sauron's hand had passed in the air. There was a sudden brilliant flash, bathing everything in a shade of white for a few seconds and blinding him momentarily. When it faded, he discovered that the sword was no longer on its course to ending his life. It was lodged tight against a long scythe that had materialized out of the light trail, which was held in Sauron's raised hand.

The scythe had a rather simple design, and only had a few minor differences from the ones used in reaping harvest. The metal colored a warm golden-bronze, it shone strangely with a light of its own. It was as long as the figure's broadsword, the shaft curving outwards slightly. There was a sun-like design on the part where the blade intersected with the shaft.

Sauron gave it a deft twist and yanked it free from his opponent's sword. He then slashed furiously with a new found strength, driving the armored figure back.

_This is..._

He took the sparse time to observe his weapon again and noted its potent power contained within. Sauron suddenly remembered the moment when he held the same scythe in his hands as he took the blacksmith's hammer to it, hammering it into form in order to please Melkor when he first joined him. Unexpectedly it had turned out to be his finest work, enough to rival Aulë's own. There were many hidden abilities and magical properties in the powerful weapon that he had yet to discover. However for some mysterious reason, Melkor despised the scythe immensely. He ordered Sauron to cast it into the sea and warned him if he ever forged something like that again, there would be consequences. The fine weapon had been lost ever since, and Sauron mourned for it at first. But later he forgot all about it through the Ages.

_O__â__reuensolqa__û__n Aere__î__nota__ð__ehcal__ê__s__..._

It was named in Valarin, the mysterious language of the Ainur. The name meant "rising dawn-light".

_It is back? But how? After three Ages, I had given up all hope in seeing it again. Then today it reappears like this in my hands after so long? It is as if some divine intervention participated in this. But at least I can defend myself now, as well as I could with a broken arm and a twisted foot._

Sauron hefted the scythe with his left hand and swung it around a few times experimentally. He found that he could wield it better if he held it in a backhand grip.

_A good balance and a good weight. It has been long since I held a weapon this fine. It is time to put __Aere__î__nota__ð__ehcal__ê__s__ into good use._

The figure attacked again with the mace and broadsword. This time however, Sauron met the attack head on and trapped the sword underneath the blade of his scythe. He heaved upwards, sending the sword spinning into the air and landing out of reach with a loud clang. Sauron then parried just in time as the figure's mace struck towards his now vulnerable left side. He had to use both hands to keep himself from being knocked off balance. Pain flared up again from his broken arm.

_Even now that I am no longer defenseless, I cannot last much longer. Confound everything! Obtaining a weapon was not helpful at all!_

_**Stop! **_The voice in his mind roared, _**You will cease your useless resistance! Do you not see how not returning to Master Melkor will be your doom? Shunned you will be, among all the races of Arda. You will rather subject yourself to more humiliation and ridicules than to be restored? If you insist in your own ways, then I will continue my assault until you break and submit completely!**_

_Confound it! It will be not holding back now..._

Sauron gritted his teeth and attacked the figure viciously. The scythe swung well, scoring hits on his opponent's armor with clear rings. No major damage was done however.

_I suppose this was exactly how the Witch King felt when he fought against me. My armor was well forged, and there are no easy openings. It was a miracle that he impaled me when we fought in his mind. Perhaps I can take a page from his book?_

_ However, __Aere__î__nota__ð__ehcal__ê__s__ was not made for stabbing but for swift slashes..._

Dodging another mighty blow from the armored figure, Sauron struck again. They exchanged a series of attacks, with the Maia mostly on the defending side. Although his slashes were quick, they mostly missed his opponent. Sauron now realized that he mostly relied on fighting by brute force and recoiled not from blows because they glanced off his armor uselessly. He had no need to aim his attacks accurately or develop a fighting style. In truth, Sauron did not know how to fight. He had disarmed the armored figure of its broadsword by pure luck.

His twisted foot was not helping matters at all as it hindered his movements. Finally Sauron was unable to parry another attack and was sent flying through the air. He collided with the invisible barrier, falling to the ground. The scythe fell clattering from Sauron's slackened grip.

As for the Maia, the pain he experienced previously was nothing compared to this. From the fierce burning sensation in his left side and the difficulty to breath normally, he could tell the mace had broken at least three of his ribs. As he lay there on the cold stone ground, broken and bruised, he couldn't help but think that he had made a mistake in not submitting to the temptations earlier placed on him.

_Was it...a mistake? If I had submitted, would all this be avoided? But no. Why should I give way to this pain? I had experienced worse under the hand of my former master. However, I am loath to admit it that I can no longer fight on in my present condition. I had never fought an armed opponent without armor before, and I never practiced swordsmanship in battle..._

_**I am giving you one last chance, **_the voice warned, _**Which would you choose: Returning to Master Melkor or death under my hand?**_

_You are not giving me a choice._

Sauron managed to stand up again, leaning on the invisible barrier. He covered his mouth with one hand and coughed. It came away red with his blood.

_This is no mere test of arms. The true test is the temptations that are placed on me. True it is, that I could regain my former status by submitting. But had I not brooded over Melkor's return and how I would not be looking forward to it? Then why am I struggling like this?_

Sauron suddenly realized something in that voice he had not noticed before, a fact that was so simplistic that he scolded himself for failing to notice it earlier. He could use it to his advantage to great effect. All thoughts of submitting fled his mind as he laughed triumphantly, which turned another hacking cough. Sauron then bent and retrieved his scythe again.

_So foolish, you are. Or I could say I myself am the foolish one. You wish to kill me or for me to submit. Both choices lead to the same path, a meeting with Melkor. I am afraid this is not a choice at all, and I will have to refuse both options._

_**No! No, you will not...!**_

_Silence! _Sauron shouted mentally, _Stop trying to deceive me anymore. I want to walk on my own path, turning to no one. I want a new beginning without Melkor or any kind of master! I will make my own way in Middle-earth, no matter the method. Completely without power, you ask? Why not? At least Eru would not be after me for turning back to my old ways. As for Melkor, I will conceal myself if necessary when he returns and leave the battles up to the races instead. Better it is to become powerless and favorable in Eru's sight, than to return to Melkor and be under the wrath of both!_

As Sauron spoke, he was aware of his weapon giving off a soft yellow light again. He brought it up to examine the scythe closely, which began to get even brighter. Suddenly raw power surged through the Maia, and he almost exclaimed at the magnitude of it. Sauron immediately recognized it as part of the power he had as one of the Maiar before he turned astray. He knew he had lost some of it when he joined Melkor, but only dismissed it as a minor inconvenience. Now he regretted that as he was filled with this new strength, seemly banishing the pain and hindrance of his wounds. Sauron was only aware of everything becoming brighter until the only thing in his vision was whiteness. Being in the darkness for so long and now exposed to great amounts of it continuously, Sauron was hesitant to give in at first, for the light _hurt _painfully.

_Why am I struggling like this? _He asked himself again, _My first priority should be defeating this figure and getting out alive. Now is the opportunity to do so. Give in then, give in! This is my power, and I will use it to its fullest._

At that moment, Sauron was faintly aware of rushing forward with Aereînotaðehcalês towards his opponent. He was then slashing mercilessly, each strike a deadly blow that sent the other staggering.

Then there was only the light, consuming his world until it was the only thing he was aware of.

* * *

As the fight wore on, the Witch King was watching frustratingly from the outside. He longed to break through the barrier and finish Sauron off faster. However, he could not help feeling twinges of pity for the Maia as he was knocked down again and again. He no longer cared for that armored figure, but had focused his attention on that young man whom he knew was the real Sauron. Sauron was fighting a losing battle, and the Witch King was also struggling with one of his own.

_I wanted to see him defeated and perished for so long. He was defeated. I saw it with my own eyes. But Sauron is back now. How?_

_I would have shown no mercy on him if I had discovered his identity earlier. He would have been dead before he knew it. Sauron was the one who ruined me, who brought about my downfall! Such a being deserves to be punished severely for what he has done. I would gladly do it also and end his life._

_Yet..._

The Witch King felt almost sorry as he saw Sauron mysteriously gain a weapon of his own and start taking the offensive. However, that did not turn the tides in his favor, for the Witch King saw that the Maia was injured already, made worse when he took a direct hit from the mace.

_Do I truly wish to see Sauron die or not?_

Then Sauron was charging towards the armored figure, his scythe a blazing arc of light. His slashes were suddenly accurate and sure. Finally as Sauron was obscured completely in the light that now radiated from him, the Witch King could see his scythe spinning faster than the eye could follow. His opponent was struck again and again without mercy, staggering from the impact. Then Sauron hurled the scythe hard at it, and it burst into rays of more light on contact. When everything finally darkened down, the armored figure had disappeared without a trace.

_Why am I hesitating like this?_

The Witch King proceeded beyond the barrier, which broke when the armored figure vanished. Sauron had already collapsed unconscious face up on the ground from his injuries. For a moment he found it hard to imagine that his master, the once proud and haughty Sauron who lorded over all in Mordor, was lying there looking so frail and broken.

He stopped a few feet away from the Maia, and readied his sword.

_You failed to perish under that armored figure's hand, although I still do not know how you managed to be in two places at once and attack yourself like this. You were the one who almost destroyed Middle-earth. So many had died because of you, Sauron, and countless had suffered._

_ You deserve death for what you had done._

_ For the drowning of Númenor, for the corrupting of the Nine, for everything._

But the Witch King could not bring himself to bring the blade down. He suddenly began to wonder about this whole situation, about how Sauron had returned from the dead. It was impossible, since his Ring was destroyed. The ruin of Mordor had proved this fact true. Sauron should have never been able to rise again. He lost all of his power and was unable to return with a physical body.

Unless...

_If Ilúvatar pardoned him also._

The Witch King rebuked himself for the ridiculousness of that idea. Why would the Creator choose to pardon Sauron out of all beings? If Herumor, Fuinur or Eärnur had been pardoned, he would have rejoiced. Or even if it were Khamûl or the Mouth of Sauron, he would have congratulated them after a bit of struggling. But Sauron himself? He did not deserve it at all!

_In fact, you may choose not to forgive him at all. But always remember that I forgave you, young one. _Ilúvatar had said.

The Witch King now knew what he had meant. He didn't have to worry about forgiving Sauron if he were defeated and residing in the Void. It was because that he was sent back. Ilúvatar had known that he would attempt on the Maia's life if he saw him again. He warned the Witch King that this would happen.

With a cry of frustration, he hurled down his sword where it struck quivering in the ground an inch next to Sauron's neck. He seemed to flinch a little from the resounding clang, and then was still again. It was as if Sauron knew that he had narrowly escaped death again, and would be doing so many times.

* * *

Gandalf made his way finally over to the battleground. He had also watched everything carefully, and thought all the more during the entire time. He left the Witch King to his thoughts when he went through the barrier. The wraith was in a great struggle, he sensed. Gandalf had no doubts that he truly opposed Sauron while under his service and strived to help the free peoples of Middle-earth earnestly. The Witch King was a great mystery already, but greater was the mystery of the appearance of Sauron.

It puzzled the Wizard greatly to see two manifestations of Sauron together. This one of the rare things that he did not comprehend at all. Now that the battle was over, it was evident that the armored figure was only either an illusion or a false image. That young man was the real Sauron in the flesh.

They had once been close companions during the short time when Sauron was formerly known as Mairon. They sang together in the Ainulindalë until Melkor caused the great discord. Mairon had joined in with the rebellious Vala's music, and Gandalf tried to get him back on track after a great struggle. The two grew apart as they came to serve under different Valar, Mairon under Aulë and Gandalf under Manwë. When Mairon finally joined Melkor and became Sauron, he was one of the many who mourned his fall. Now as Gandalf saw Sauron back in his original form, he felt pity well up in him for the fallen Maia who had so long spent his days in the darkness, with nothing else only but his master to cling to. Long days spent in the halls of Nienna had taught him to pity and mourn for the lost more easily than others.

Gandalf came upon the scene of battle and saw a rather odd sight. Sauron was lying unconscious, with the Witch King standing at his feet. A sword he recognized as the wraith's protruded from the ground near his neck threateningly.

"What has happened?" Gandalf asked cautiously.

The Witch King did not reply.

Instead he reached out a hand, grasped the handgrip of his sword and drew it out. He allowed it to hang loosely at his side as he looked at Sauron again.

"I cannot do it." The Witch King said quietly, "He was the master who oppressed me, and I longed to see his defeat and death. Now he lies before me defenseless, yet..."

"I cannot do it...I cannot do it..." He muttered, shaking his head.

* * *

**By the way, I would change the name of Sauron's scythe later. The current name was a pain to type and pronounce...**

**Please review and see if this story can hit up to at least thirty of them! Please?**


	10. Back to Cruel Reality

**Alright, I know some of you are rather tempted to come at me with pitchforks and torches for not updating for so long, so I humbly offer my sincerest apologies. These few years had been hard for me, especially with an increasing load of schoolwork and some family issues. Plus I discovered that this story is now somewhat over my ability to plan and write. I mean, after this chapter I honestly have little idea on where to take it. If you have any ideas to offer, please do so by all means!**

**Many thanks to those who reviewed, especially _Sauron Gorthaur's _extremely long and constructive ones!**

* * *

Rising high over the eastern mountains, Arien shone her brilliant rays through the gloom that hung over Mordor. The Black Land was no longer a realm of evil might, but a desolate wasteland that no one wished to inhabit. The sunlight gradually illuminated the ruined structures that scattered the land, revealing every tower and crevice of the ruined Barad-dûr to the eerie green walls of the still-intact Minas Morgul. It seemed strange that a land shrouded in darkness for so long should be brought into the dawn light like this. The entire landscape now looked ethereal and unreal.

The light further revealed the land beyond Mordor and the Black Gates. A weary army was seen making its way back towards the West. From their livery of a white tree and a running horse, it could be identified as the triumphant hosts of Gondor and Rohan. Victorious from the Battle of the Morannan, they were returning to the White City of Minas Tirith. However, the mood of this group was dark despite witnessing the defeat of Sauron. One of the reasons lay with a tall hooded figure cloaked in black, wearing armor and a sinister-looking helm. He was chained by all four limbs and surrounded by a battalion of Gondorian soldiers, heavily armed with weapons. The discovery of the Witch King of Angmar had ceased all thoughts of celebration and relief. It had to be found out that why the wraith had returned from the dead, and from him made sure whether Sauron would do the same again.

Little did they know the cause of all their doubt was currently been carried ahead in a stretcher by two other soldiers. Sauron was still unconscious and ignorant of the events set in motion around him now. So were the forces of the West ignorant of the true identity of the mysterious young man they found. All they knew was that they had to take him back to the city for proper treatment, lest he die of his grave injuries. From Gandalf they heard that there was a battle with a resurrected Sauron and the young man had helped to fight. The Wizard stated that the Dark Lord was subdued for now, so there was no need for worry. Nevertheless, this news had a large impact on the men and was also a large reason for their unease. They all wished to return to Minas Tirith, rest their weary bodies and solve this perplexing mystery.

_I am in chains again. Somehow I know this would not be the last time this happens. _The Witch King thought grimly as he made his way the best he could across the plains under the weight of the shackles binding his hands and feet together. He stole a glance towards the horizon where he knew Sauron lay carried on his stretcher. The Maia was already ahead of the army and all that was seen of him and the two carriers were dots in the distance. Aragorn had given the orders for him to be transported as soon as possible to the city. Anger arose in the Witch King again at that sight.

_And he stays comfortably carried. None of this is fair. Their reaction would be worse if they discover his true identity. Now only Gandalf and I know the truth. It confuses me why the Wizard chose not to reveal it when he told of everything that happened before the Black Gates. He is also hiding the complete truth of what had happened..._

A cruel jab in his side brought him out of his thoughts. It knocked the Witch King off balance for a second, but he recovered immediately and looked down at the soldier who had done it. A spear the soldier held, which was pointed at him. His expression was surprisingly one of irritation, as if he did not fear the wraith at all despite that he towered over all the men at least a head.

_I have lost the power to instill fear into all who encounters me also. Anyone could face me without fear if this is so. What now?_

"Can you not proceed faster, wraith?! Or shall we drag you in our wake?" The soldier said impatiently.

The Witch King chose wisely to remain silent as he picked up his pace a little. But on the inside he was harboring the thought that if he had kept his powers of sorcery or was armed, these weak mortals would have been dead in the blink of an eye already. He would never tolerate this belittling he was experiencing now. Recent circumstances, however, had taught the Witch King to ignore it if he wanted to stay out of trouble. Trouble mostly found him first though.

He received another blow from the same soldier. The anger he had held within him finally snapped, and he swiftly swung the chains on his hands. The soldier dropped his spear as it rapped his knuckles smartly. Using the chains again to great effect, the Witch King intercepted the weapon and brought it up hard. There was a dull whack of wood against the metal of his helm, and the soldier fell with a crash of armor. At the same moment, a circle of drawn swords surrounded him menacingly.

"Drop it!" Another commanded harshly, "Or your life ends here right now. Lord Aragorn gave us the orders to keep you alive, but we will take drastic measures if you try anything desperate."

"The hospitality of towards prisoners never changes, does it? Then the hosts of the West are no better than Mordor if this is so." The Witch King replied curtly.

"Silence! How dare you compare the noble Gondorians with the filthy scum of Mordor?!" The other shot back furiously.

"Filthy scum or not, you Gondorian soldiers have a duty to carry out by bringing me to Minas Tirith _without _trouble. I hardly find it appropriate if you were the ones who caused it." He held the spear out to the solder, who took it without another word. The unconscious one was taken away towards the back lines. Whispering was now heard among the men, and the Witch King could tell that they were wary. They were also frightened at the same time.

"Do not provoke him..."

"He can even attack while in chains..."

"Watch the wraith closer..."

_I despise every bit of this, especially the humiliation. It is much worse than the ones Khamûl had me subject to. I was once a Númenórean king, not the despised wraith I am now. I had my basic pride even while everything I possessed was gone. It seems that I would have to give that up also!_

_I should have retreated after Sauron's battle with that armored figure and left him be. I should have never turned myself in the first place! But again, I never had time. Aragorn and his companions showed up immediately afterwards with a legion. To escape would have meant a second death for me. Perhaps I was fated to stay with those people somehow. That would explain my strange impulse to turn myself in. This is only going to get worse. Anybody would have known this._

_ So far, nothing good has happened since I was sent back by Ilúvatar. He must have known this would happen. This must be one of the punishments that he mentioned. I had underestimated the magnitude of it..._

The Witch King grimaced and clenched his fists tighter. He longed to vent his simmering anger at something. Everything was unfair, from Sauron being sent back with a new body, the ignorance the lords of the West had of his identity and to the Witch King's humiliation.

_Sauron would be dragged into all this if I reveal his identity. _He thought of his former master again,_ Oh, I intend to do that, and present to him a nasty surprise when he awakes. He would not be getting out of this. But why could I not bring my sword against him to end his life? Did Ilúvatar truly pardon Sauron from everything he did? It is the only logical explanation, for Sauron could have never regained his body by any means._

_ Why then? Why could I not do it? Do I fear Ilúvatar's reaction?_

The Witch King sighed inaudibly.

_It seems that I cannot harm him now. There is no chance for that. However, I will not stand by and do nothing..._

* * *

Gandalf was also in a great struggle at the same time. He was walking at the very front beside Aragorn and his companions. They had just finished hearing his account of the strange battle by the Black Gates and were now sharing their concerns.

"None of this makes sense," Legolas said quietly, "The Dark Lord was supposed to perish after the destruction of his Ring. How was he able to take on a physical form and appear again?"

"Perhaps we merely weakened him. It took another fight to defeat his lingering spirit completely." Aragorn mused.

"Then what do you have to say about the Witch King of Angmar? He came back from the dead when it was reported that he was slain in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields!" The elf returned disbelievingly.

"Slain or not, he has not tried to cause trouble among the men so far. Being rather peaceful for the most terrible servant of Sauron, he is." Gimli spoke up

"Who is that young man, Gandalf?" Éomer suddenly asked curiously, "Surely he had enough power to take on the Dark Lord on his own. Is he a warrior of great might?"

"Perhaps." Gandalf said shortly.

And that was his struggle, which was why he wasn't speaking much. It pained the Wizard that he had to speak half-truths like this. He had chosen not to reveal Sauron's identity, and it would probably cost him if the truth was found out. But he could not, for the sake of their previous companionship, leave his fellow Maia lying there dying of his injuries. At least he had to be treated first before anything dramatic happened.

All this went against the very purpose why Gandalf was sent to Arda along with the other Istari. His duty was to help the free peoples fight against Sauron, not to sympathize with the enemy! So many sacrifices were made to defeat the Dark Lord, and so many lives lost. Gandalf could never thank Frodo and Sam enough for their willing role in destroying the One Ring. The two were now proceeding further back in the army, with Frodo also unconscious from exhaustion and Sam watching over him. The Wizard knew that he was now the most successful of the Five at his task. Perhaps his knowledge and familiarity of Sauron's personality had helped along with a large group of good allies. And this very knowledge was a stumbling block to him at the moment.

Now the issue came to Sauron and the Witch King's return. Gandalf had made a guess that either the Valar or even Lord Eru interred with this. This further cemented the fact that the two had to kept alive as long as possible in order to learn of their return. Glorfindel, Beren and Lúthien were the only three who had returned from the Halls of Mandos in the history of Middle-earth. But these two were of the enemy and would have never gotten such a great privilege unless...

Unless something out of the ordinary was about to happen.

"Still, I find it suspicious that someone was loitering around the ruins of Mordor," Imrahil pointed out, "Maybe that young man is a survivor, one of the servants of the Dark Lord."

"He fought against Sauron singlehandedly. His servants would never attempt to face him in defiance, let alone to fight him!" Aragorn observed.

"What about the Nazgûl-lord? Gandalf said that he agreed to fight against his former master after they sensed the Dark Lord's presence. I am very confused about his allegiance." Gimli frowned as he transferred his battle ax on his left shoulder.

Gandalf was also still unsure of the wraith's allegiance. This was the very reason why he had persuaded Aragorn to take him back to Minas Tirith to be questioned. He knew the future king of Gondor would have him executed right away. Plus Gandalf wished to hear of the Witch King's encounter with Lord Eru. It has been a long time since the Creator of Arda showed himself or had a message for his servants.

"But that does not give anyone a reason to release him back at the Black Gates," He was interrupted by Legolas' shout, "What was Mithrandir thinking when he did that?"

There was a long silence afterwards. Everyone looked at Gandalf uncomfortable, particularly Aragorn.

"Indeed. I think we would all like to hear of your reasons." Aragorn stated.

"Of course," Gandalf said wearily, "If releasing the Witch King was a price to pay for the complete defeat of Sauron, would you not be willing to pay it?"

"Well..." Imrahil began.

"It was not possible for me to confront the Dark Lord by myself alone. Only with his help and the young man's was Sauron subdued. I spoke to him a few times and found that his loyalty was never towards his master. He would not cause trouble unless provoked. Question him later to find out the entire truth after the young man is treated. He has much to reveal."

"Does he?" Gimli asked, thoughtful, "Interesting..."

* * *

It was by the evening of the next day when the host finally reached Minas Tirith, the capital of Gondor. They had camped near the ruins of Osgiliath, and the Witch King bound head to feet in chains with a tighter guard set around him. At daybreak they set out again, crossing the war-torn Pelennor Fields. The corpses of men, orcs, horses and even the large _mumakil_ piled everywhere. Carrion birds were already circling overhead for a feast on the dead. There were bits of catapults and battering rams scattered around, making progress across the plain difficult. The Witch King had spotted his slain fell beast still lying a distance away. The deceased king of Rohan and his white horse had been removed already. The shieldmaiden Éowyn was also gone from where she collapsed.

_The sight of a battlefield still sickens me today, _The Witch King thought, _The sheer amount of lost lives is staggering. The Battle of the Pelennor Fields was especially fierce. I could say that it was a turning point. Had Sauron won it, then Middle-earth would have been lost._

He felt rather odd as he glanced at the spot where he faced off against the shieldmaiden. That was where he was slain, and yet here he was alive and well as a prisoner.

_I wonder did she perish or not...If not, I will say that she would also receive a nasty surprise..._

They marched through the ruined _mithril_ gates of Minas Tirith, which the Witch King grimaced at as he remembered he was the one who destroyed it. Then the sound of a horn echoed throughout the entire city, the symbol of long-awaited victory. There was cheering from the citizens when they came out of their houses. Children ran laughing to meet their fathers while the women wept in pure relief. There were joyful shouts as some of the Gondorian soldiers reunited with their families.

Suddenly everything in the Witch King's vision changed. He was seeing another street lined with stone-built houses like the ones in Minas Tirith and walking on a dirt-paved road alone. There were also people lining alongside the road cheering loudly. More variety however, was in this group. Fishermen, sailors, ship builders, traders, shop keepers and their families were all there. He immediately recognized this place from his mind...

"It is the king! He has come to visit again!" Faintly the Witch King could make out the words.

Then he was back in Minas Tirith again, making his way forward in chains as if nothing had happened.

_What just happened? _The Witch King was confused, _I could almost say what I saw was... a street in Númenor. The people mentioned a king visiting. What does that have to do with me then? A meaningless vision?_

For the first time he noticed everything was now strangely quiet. No more cheering pierced the chill autumn air. He could sense an atmosphere of fear now instead of joy and relief.

_They saw me._

Low mutterings and whispers floated across the air. There were fingers pointed and exclamations uttered.

"Why, isn't that the Lord of the Nazgûl?"

"What is he doing here in our city, which no enemy had ever passed under its gates?"

"Was he not slain earlier? Then the news was not accurate..."

_The inhabitants of a large city intrigue me sometimes. News spread like wildfire among them, and so does emotions and reactions._

The Witch King scowled as he concentrated on what the people were saying. Unknown to most, he disliked any kind of attention, whether welcome or unwelcome. Now Minas Tirith would likely become an uproar because of his presence, possibly made worse if Sauron's identity was revealed. The Maia was perhaps already in the city.

The silence became even more pressing when the group proceeded on level by level until the very top, where the Tower of Ecthelion stood in the Citadel. Many soldiers had already left for their homes until only the ones guarding the Witch King remained along with Aragorn's group. The two halflings left for the Houses of Healing on the Sixth Level earlier. Soon the two small groups separated, and the guards promptly escorted him behind down a small doorway set with a solid iron door beside the Tower. At first everything was dark as they proceeded down the shallow steps, and the Witch King could only make out small shafts of light shining through holes in the ceiling. When he got used to the dimness, he could see that he was in a rather large dungeon. Empty cells lined both walls, barred by thick bars. His and the soldiers' footsteps made dull clanks on the cold stone ground, slippery with green algae. A musty dank smell hung around the dismal place.

"You will stay here until you are called to be questioned. Do not attempt to escape or make a break for it. We will chain you to the walls of your cell." One of the guards said gruffly.

The Witch King again said nothing as he allowed one to lead him into a cell and attach the chains on his limbs to iron rings set in the wall. Then the door was swung shut with a rusty sounding clang, and the key turned in the lock. After the sounds of their footsteps receded, all was silent except for the drip drop of water somewhere in the dungeon. He then sat down heavily on a ledge that served as the bed with a rattling of his heavy shackles.

_So now I am shut in a dungeon as a prisoner. Could this get any worse? Possibly, when they come to interrogate me. What I do not get is why I was sent back to endure this. Come to think of it, Ilúvatar never mentioned the clear purpose of sending me back. I asked and he only gave that odd piece of poetry. The Light and Fire of the Final Dawn indeed! Nothing makes sense in that..._

_ I have to know the reason. If the purpose of my return is to rot in a dungeon for the rest of my years, then I would rather refuse the second chance. I must know the reason for my return, and also Sauron's. Ilúvatar better come up with a good explanation for why he sent back that despicable Maia._

* * *

_I have been falling unconscious frequently in those past few days._

That was the first thing Sauron thought when he came to. There was a pounding ache in his head, and the soft surface beneath him did not help at all.

_First in the Void, then being sent back in front of Mordor, and after the battle against myself. I am Sauron, for goodness sake, not a swooning drunkard!_

_ Still I have to thank Eru for not taking away all my powers. I would have been dead again without them. Hmm... where exactly am I now?_

He knew he was no longer in Mordor, for the air smelled sweet with greenery. He opened his eyes to see a high vaulted stone ceiling. There were sounds of activity around him, whispers and clinking of glass punctuated occasionally by groans of pain or discomfort. Sauron sat up, looking around at his surroundings. He was currently lying in one of the soft beds that lined a spacious hall neatly. All of them were occupied by others with white bandages around heads, arms or legs. Robed people hurried around, bringing food or bottles containing unknown contents to them. Many of the wounded now turned their attention to Sauron. Their expressions were of awe and wonder as they spoke in low voices among themselves.

_They must know who I am, _He thought wryly, _How quaint._

_ Then why are they whispering like that? It seems hardly the correct reaction to see Sauron himself among them._

"He awakes..."

"From the reports, he bested the Dark Lord himself in single combat..."

"Incredible! How did he do it...?"

_Ha! _Sauron was now very amused, _They think of me as a hero. If they only knew the truth! Maybe I should keep my true identity hidden. Then after I recover, I could just walk out of here with perhaps a large group of new followers. This is much better than I had expected to happen after I was sent back..._

One of the robed healers, a middle-aged woman with a kind face, noticed Sauron and came over.

"You finally wake," She said cheerfully, "I am amazed that you did so quickly. The broken ribs and arm are going to take at least months to recover, so you should get plenty of rest in the meantime."

"Where am I?" Sauron asked groggily. He was still trying to rub sleep from his eyes. He noticed that his wounds have been treated carefully, his left arm now in a sling and his side swathed in bandages.

"The Houses of Healing on the Six Level of Minas Tirith, capital of Gondor. It is rather far from where you were found. Lord Aragorn had you brought over as fast as he could because of your injuries. You have him to thank for your life, which would have been lost had you delayed in being treated." The woman continued to rattle off.

_Minas Tirith?! How... do they actually know who I am? Did they know that they just took me, the former Dark Lord of Mordor under their roofs to be treated for his injuries? Probably not. They would leave me to die if they knew who I am. Now that it seems I would live longer. I should enjoy this peace while it lasts._

"By the way, how did you get into a fight with the Dark Lord? Was it true that you actually challenged him to single combat? Then why were you lingering around the Black Land in the first place? " The woman suddenly asked.

"Leave me alone," Sauron groaned, already feeling overwhelmed by the healer's torrent of unwelcomed questions, which was making his headache worse.

She looked taken back, "Alright..."

Then there were the steps of heavy boots in the Hall. A legion of Gondorian soldiers appeared in the entrance armed heavily. Their captain stepped out and addressed the woman.

"We have a problem;" He said grimly, "This man is to be brought before Lord Aragorn at once."

"Surely you could wait! He is still recovering from his injuries, and the wounds would certainly worsen if he moves so soon!" The woman exclaimed.

"This is urgent, and much more serious than you think. Seize him!"

"What...?" Sauron was dragged out of bed by two soldiers roughly and deposited on his feet. He winced as his ribs gave a painful twinge of protest. They cared not however, for they seized him tightly by both arms and marched him out the door.

_Ughh... it seems like my identity has been revealed without my knowledge already. Time to face those annoying lords of the West._

* * *

"We all wish to hear of the method of your return and your purpose," Aragorn said sharply, "You will do well to hold nothing in secret, Witch King of Angmar."

"I have nothing to hide. Question me as you see fit." The Witch King said without emotion. He had decided to face this without them, and get it over quickly.

He had been brought out of his cell still in chains for the interrogation, which was interestingly held in the Tower itself at the hall where the kings and stewards had once sat. It was rather crowded, for most of the occupants were the soldiers standing guard at the entrance and those around him. Aragorn, Gandalf, Éomer, Imrahil, Legolas and Gimli were all looking at the Witch King intently. There was even a reedy-looking scribe with a long piece of parchment and a quill pen, ready to record everything down.

"You perished during the Battle of the Pelennor Fields under the swords of the shieldmaiden of Rohan and her halfling companion, did you not?" Aragorn started the questioning.

"Indeed I did. There was no way I could have survived that."

The furious scratching of the scribe's quill was heard.

"You have traveled to the Hall of Mandos?" Gandalf joined in.

_You know what happened, Wizard. Why question me further? _The Witch King was again irritated.

"Of course. It was crowded with the spirits with the slain, and I exchanged words with the deceased king of Rohan himself."

There were astonished mutterings in the hall as the soldiers whispered among themselves. Éomer now wore an expression of shock while the others kept their expressions of stony grimness. The Witch King saw Gandalf whisper into Aragorn's ear.

"You will have to prove your words true," He said flatly, "Describe the hall to us, and Gandalf shall authenticate your descriptions."

The Witch King did so without much hesitation.

There were more whisperings, now among the six that stood before him. Gandalf was nodding in confirmation.

"So it is now proved that you have been there. Then tell us, how did you return?" Aragorn asked dubiously, "I highly doubt Lord Námo would release spirits of the deceased—"

"Wait! Ask him about the young man first. Something about this whole situation bothers me greatly." The Witch King heard Imrahil mutter to the man.

"Fine then. Do you know the young man who had fought against Sauron? He was found near the ruins of Mordor, so there is a high possibility that he was a servant of the Dark Lord." Aragorn complied.

_It is time to reveal the truth. Sauron, you are going to regret your return for the rest of your duration on Middle-earth._

"Know?!" The Witch King laughed bitterly, "Yes indeed. I had known him for thousands of years. How could I not recognize him, the master who oppressed the free peoples of Middle-earth and his own servants alike? Why, the same young man whom you took behind the gates of Minas Tirith to be treated for his injuries is the infamous Sauron Gorthaur himself! Even you yourselves know of him!"

The hall immediately erupted into chaos at the Witch King's words as the occupants exclaimed in horror. Aragorn and Legolas both turned pale as a sheet while Gimli's mouth literally dropped open in shock. Éomer and Imrahil both placed their hands on the hilts of their swords. Gandalf was looking at the Witch King with an unreadable expression. The scribe actually gave a horrified sounding squeak, and then resumed his writing more ardently than before.

"Is what... you said... true?" Gimli managed to stutter in utter shock.

"If you doubt my words, then go and retrieve him." The Witch King said calmly.

"This is no casual matter, wraith!" Imrahil shouted, "If the Dark Lord has survived and is now residing in the city, everyone is in danger!"

"Not to mention that all the sacrifices and battles we fought were in vain! Hurry and bring the young man from the Houses of Healing. He must be also questioned!" Aragorn immediately ordered.

More than half of the soldiers ran out with a loud clattering. Aragorn was now conversing with Gandalf worriedly, his brow creased in a deep frown. Legolas had his bow strung and an arrow at the ready. Imrahil could be heard muttering,

"I sincerely hope this is all a hoax from the wraith..."

_I wish it were, _The Witch King thought, _I have not thought about Sauron doing something to Minas Tirith while behind its gates._

Despite the grim situation, he could not help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. Finally in thousands of years, he was able to exact his revenge on the master he despised. Sauron definitely deserved it more than anyone else. If the Witch King was forbidden to attempt on the Maia's life, then at least he could make him pay in some other way.

"What is the meaning of this? Soldiers come in and drag me out of bed unceremoniously to be questioned?! Surely you should show more grace to the wounded!" He heard a furious shout. It was Sauron himself flanked by the soldiers, who brought him to stand right beside the Witch King. He gave him a quizzical look.

"Well hello, Witch King" Sauron said sarcastically, "I suppose you were the one who dragged me into this mess."

"Cease your rhetorical speech, Sauron, and declare to them your identity yourself!" The Witch King snarled, "Tell them the one whom they took into their safe havens is the Dark Lord of Mordor in person, the Great Enemy the free peoples of Middle-earth have been fighting for the past two Ages!"

"Cease the dramatic speech yourself, wraith. You had always annoyed me to no end with your so-called reasons for rebellion and your immature antics. Now today you had annoyed me even further by revealing my identity without permission! I have no reason to be dragged into this complicated situation you created." The Maia angrily shoved the guards holding him away and advanced upon the Witch King.

"He has revealed enough of the truth. Stop him if you value your lives!" Éomer cried out.

Sauron's good hand emitted that same light that had preceded the appearance of his scythe. The Witch King knew he was going to attack him, but he was not concerned about it at all. There was no way that the former Dark Lord would make it without being restrained.

But the light went out just as quickly as it appeared, and for a second Sauron stared at his empty palm before getting tackled by a group of soldiers. He went down with a shouted oath and a grunt of pain. When he was finally allowed to get up again, he was bound also in the chains brought earlier. The soldiers gather around him in a circle with their swords drawn, flashing in the light blindingly.

"It is true..." Legolas whispered.

"The Dark Lord... back in Middle-earth as if we never defeated him at all!" Éomer said frustratingly.

"Gandalf, you must have known of this." Aragorn turned to the Wizard, an accusing look in his gray eyes, "Why did you not tell us?! I thought you were the one most dedicated in defeating Sauron! Please explain yourself!"

_The situation is becoming worse, _the Witch King realized, _They know of Sauron's identity, and now they are placing the blame on Gandalf for not telling the truth earlier. But that was the Wizard's choice. He chose not to reveal it..._

"I have my own reasons. If you had noticed by now, none of the two had attempted to make a break for it. According to my understanding, they had lost all their powers and are no longer a notable threat to us. It is safe to approach them." Gandalf said calmly.

"But that still does not explain why you did not tell us the truth." Éomer pointed out.

"So you do not find it strange that these two of the enemy were sent back to the living?" Gandalf was aware of the danger he was in, "That they were given a second chance despite all the crimes against the people of Middle-earth they had committed? Nothing like this has ever happened in history! Are you not going to find out the true reason behind this phenomenon, which may be the herald to some momentous event that is about to happen?"

"You deceived us, Mithrandir! Never did I expect such deeds out of you, you who helped us so much in our quest to bring down the Dark Lord." Legolas accused.

"Cease this now!" Aragorn suddenly shouted, his voice ringing and clear over the tumult of shouts and protests, "I want answers, and I want them when these two are shut securely in the dungeons. Gandalf will explain himself in detail without them influencing the people's emotions and thoughts in this room. Take them away!"

Before the Witch King could actually process that the Wizard had just openly got himself in trouble just to keep him and Sauron alive, he was dragged by his chains along with the Maia. When they arrived at the cell where the Witch King had been taken from, they were literally thrown in and chained tightly to the wall. Sauron tried to fight again, kicking at the guards furiously and yelling out threats. But they struck him in the face, which finally made the other stop struggling and fall silent. The cell door closed with a despairing clang, seemly reminding the Witch King of his much-less-than-ideal situation again.

_I will review, _He decided, _First I become restrained and captured, then Sauron decides to come along and deceive them into taking him under their shelter, then I am further humiliated and shut in a dungeon, in the same cell as my former master. This should be interesting__—_

"You!" The Witch King was interrupted rudely from his thoughts by Sauron's furious voice, which took on a nasty grating tone, "How dare you reveal my identity with such blatancy?! I was _injured _and under the awe of the people of this pathetic city. I would have left with the blessings and honors had you not decided to interfere. You have always been a stumbling block to my plans, Witch King, and this is the last time you have done so!"

"Stumbling block? Had I not served you faithfully for thousands of years?" He returned sarcastically. Now that Sauron had decided to pick an argument with him, he found this a perfect opportunity to have a little heart-to-heart with the Maia.

"Only to betray me during the most crucial battle for Middle-earth! And look what happened afterwards. My Ring was destroyed, I was humiliated before the Valar, and I was sent to the Void and almost strangled to death by my master—"

"And then you were forgiven and sent back by Eru Ilúvatar." The Witch King interrupted dryly.

Sauron actually froze in the middle of his tirade with a shocked expression. However, he recovered quickly with a snort of dismissal.

"I suppose a certain informative deity let you in on that particular piece of information. Then you should have known _not _to reveal my identity. I was sent back by Eru, touched by his power and restored. Of course you, an ignorant wraith, would never know what this symbolizes."

_And here is the most unreasonable being I ever had the misfortune to meet and serve. Somehow Sauron's level of annoyance has increased tenfold upon the complete loss of his powers. Ignorant wraith indeed! Does he have any idea of the true significance of mine restoration? Sauron remains selfish as ever._

The Witch King decided to ignore Sauron from now on as he tried to come up with a way out of his current situation. Without his sorcery it would be difficult to break out of this cell; again he lamented over the fact of losing them. He was definitely sure that Ilúvatar did not intend for him to remain imprisoned. There must be something else the Creator had intended, and that odd piece of poetry was his only clue.

_Mercy of Eru Ilúvatar incarnate,_

_In the Light and Fire of the Final Dawn._

_Upon them, they carry Arda's fate,_

_On their dawning the battle will be won._

_The Light and Fire, seemly come too late,_

_Shall herald the call of the Final Day_.

The Witch King had no idea what it meant, for none of the words seemed to relate to his situation. It seemed to hint upon a massive battle in the future and the so-called Final Day and how light and fire will play a part in it. The prophecy was far-fetched and unreal, totally unrelated to the reason of his return, or Sauron's for the matter. He could puzzle it for the duration of his stay in the dungeons, but so far it was probable that the Lords of the West would not leave them like this for long. Sauron was too large of a threat to ignore and imprison.

His predictions were correct. Later one of the guards solemnly informed them that they were to be executed at daybreak two days from now. At this Sauron finally ceased his infuriated ranting and was reduced to disbelieving silence. The Witch King allowed himself a brief sense of relief in the blessed absence of scathing words directed him before realizing that if something did not happen soon, he would be suffering a second death. It would mean the Halls of Mandos and all the accusations again perhaps without Ilúvatar's intervention.

_I have expected something similar happening, _the Witch King thought, _In a way I do not fear the aspect of death after having gone through it once. But knowing that it will be happening so soon is jarring. Did Ilúvatar know that this would come to be?_

_ But that shall not be my main concern. If I am truly to be executed in two days, I have to take action soon. As for Sauron, he can perish for all I care. It does not matter that he was also restored because of Ilúvatar; even I have to question his intentions of sending Sauron, of all beings of Mordor, back to Middle-earth._

And so the Witch King brooded, much to Sauron's silent resentment of having the wraith ignore his every word. Again he was thinking of a strategy to escape this situation, but he would not be including the Maia within it.

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	11. Many Repercussions

**Again, I apologize deeply for the at least year-long hiatus of this story, so extra long chapter to make up for it. Honestly, I wanted to work on it, but last year was a hard year for me and my family. My father was diagnosed with colorectal cancer and had to go through surgery. He seemed to recover smoothly and was soon able to walk around and eat normally. However, it turned out the cancer had spread to his bones. Soon his health declined quickly and he died near the end of last year. I lost all kinds of inspiration and the desire to write, and now that I have found the desire again, I apologize for any emotions over my father's death that may have leaked into this chapter. As a bonus point though, I now know where to take this story.**

**And please add college application and admission tests to all. My time has become extremely compressed with my mother's new job and our financial difficulties. After all, real life is more demanding than anything else. ****But still, I will thank the Lord. My father accepted Jesus Christ as his Savior before his death and I am confident that he now resides alive and well in Paradise. 2013 has been a rough but rewarding year.**

**Sorry if this chapter seems to focus more on other characters than Sauron and the Witch King. And note that I made some changes in the previous chapter. These two are now shut in separate cells (honestly, that seems more of a wise thing to do).**

**Many thanks to _Jason 9000, Andrasma Veritas, Guest, SquirrelISDead0304, Juu50x, GoodLucifer, Lacy-Succubus, Sauron Gorthaur, Kyle, Lady Arctica, Quantumphysica, Beloved Daughter _and _Captain Wiggles _for reviewing.**

**Short recap: Sauron and the Witch King are now shut in the dungeons of Minas Tirith and due to be executed in two days after the former's identity is discovered. Gandalf seems to be in deep trouble, considering that it was deduced that he knew of Sauron's identity beforehand and still allowed him into the city.**

* * *

If looks could kill, the Witch King would have collapsed into an empty pile of robes and armor by now.

So thought Sauron as he glared silently at the unmoving black hooded figure sitting in the cell opposite from his. The wraith hadn't done or spoken anything since they were chained up and thrown in the dungeons. Good, for Sauron hated to be reminded of the fact that he couldn't punish his servant as he see fit. If he had his way, he would have made sure to subject the Witch King to one of his torture sessions, strip him of his rank for perhaps a few months and isolate him again at Minas Morgul.

_That rebellious servant of mine, how he overthrows my plans each and every time! I should have slain him myself Ages ago and saved myself the trouble of dealing with his bull-headed foolishness. I fail to see Eru's reasoning in sending him back to Middle-earth. He should have sent him to the Void at least for a period of time before that. Then perhaps the wraith would finally appreciate me as a lenient master and place himself willingly under me._

"Stop staring at me." The Witch King's irritated tone interrupted the Maia from his thoughts.

Sauron scowled darkly at the wraith's direction and merely replied with a disdainful harrumph. Unlike his short-tempered servant, he wasn't about to fall for his trap of starting another argument. He wanted greatly to though. It was the Witch King's entire fault that he was due to be executed in two days like some common criminal.

_Executed right after I receive a new life! That Eru… continues to display his extremely twisted sense of humor. Why did he send the Witch King back?! That wraith deserves whatever punishment Námo would sentence him to! If not for his foolish grudge, then I would have walked out of this pathetic place without a second glance…!_

Sauron amused himself by coming up with some more creative ways to make his former servant suffer, not even caring that such thinking did little to help the situation. He could have remained in this state for several hours had not a loud scraping interrupted him yet again. The harsh grating sound was painful to hear especially when accompanied by the loud rattling of chains, and soon Sauron had to address that annoying wraith once again.

"Quit that horrendous scraping immediately!"

There was a hollow thud, and then the Witch King straightened up to face him stiffly.

"Unlike a certain Maia who sits there no doubt engaging in his daydreams, I wish to seek a way to liberate myself from this cell."

"Then do it without the sound! And I order that you free me also if you succeed." Sauron demanded.

"No, you will stay here. I have no intention of freeing Middle-earth's most detestable being." The Witch King said coldly, "Do not presume that I will follow every order you utter."

Sauron sputtered indignantly as he almost fell for the other's trap again to incite his anger. That accursed wraith! How dare he continue to test his patience so?!

"I am your master!" The Maia flung back, "You will obey my every order without question!"

The Witch King's dry chuckle was bitter and mocking, "So you think. I was released from the power that bound me to that accursed ring the moment I perished. You cannot enslave me again, not when I was pardoned by the very same deity that restored you. As much as I disagree with Ilúvatar's decision, I finally rejoice at the fact that I am no longer under your control. Rage and rant at me all you desire, Sauron. None of your words will make a difference in my obedience."

That did it. Sauron leapt up, ignoring the sudden pain of his wounds as he began to rant furiously at the wraith. He cursed the other, berating how he had never shown any appreciation when his master had granted him power beyond imagination and immortality. The Witch King had betrayed his trust again and again, and carelessly discarded the gracious second chances Sauron had given him. Completely thankless and rebellious to the greatest fault! Did he ever consider repaying him the slightest? No! All he did was to simply sit there and complain!

"Finished?" The Witch King asked calmly.

"An entire month can be dedicated to listing your many faults, you wretched wraith!" Sauron snarled, "Now be silent, and grace me not with your obnoxious presence. Maybe I can actually think of a plan to escape the impending execution without you intruding upon my thoughts."

"That may be the most reasonable comment you had uttered so far."

Sauron aimed a last withering glance at the other and withdrew deeper into his cell to sit on the ledge that served as a crude cot, dragging his chains along and trying to arrange them as comfortably as he could with his left arm in a sling.

_No use trying to continue the argument with the Witch King. It is as if upon breaking from my control he has gained the confidence that I could no longer do a single thing to hinder him. Ha! I will show him that I was his master for a good reason. Though I must admit that I cannot force his obedience now, I still have the upper hand._

_And now… what to do with that accursed execution? I forbid that I should be put to death like a common criminal, and I had died enough times in my life. I will be sent before the __Máhanaxar once more to be mocked by those annoying Valar. I would be thrown to the Void again, and Mas― Melkor would finish what he had started. That Eru, I cannot trust that he would interfere again. Even if he did, he would just feed me his cryptic words and send me back. And so the cycle repeats… I must break out. If only I had any kind of weapon at my disposal…_

Sauron stood so quickly that his ribs gave another painful twinge that made him wince. Of course! How could he forget the scythe that he had summoned back in his fight with himself? Aereînotaðehcalês was more than enough to cut through his chains and the bars of the cell. In addition, it would serve to cut down any man who hindered his escape.

The Maia eagerly swung out his good hand in an arc as he remembered the last time it had appeared. However instead of the path of light he was expecting to materialize, there was nothing at all.

_No! I remember this was how I did it last time! Appear, Aereînota__ð__ehcalês, curse you!_

Again and again he swung his hand with no results. Growing frustrated, Sauron slammed his hand hard against the stone wall and received bruised fingers for his troubles. He tried to recall the moment when he had summoned the weapon, how he had been determined to defend himself against the armored figure and defeat it for its falsely uttered promises. He had been on the edge of death; his wounds had overwhelmed him. In that desperate moment Sauron had cried out for Eru's aid.

_Must I do the same now? Has he actually designed my arms to appear only during when I truly need it? Eru said I must bend my pride. Is this his chief way of testing me instead, forcing me to call on him and rely on him?! I need to liberate myself first, for Arda's sake!_

Sauron fumed frustratedly and sat down hard on the ledge again. The option of using his scythe to cut his way out was obviously closed. For what purpose though? The Creator couldn't possibly send him back only to be imprisoned and executed straight away.

As if on cue, the Witch King immediately touched upon the same subject,

"If I recall correctly, you had summoned a scythe from nonexistence during that battle against yourself. Why don't you spare me from your undesirable complaints by actually putting it to good use?"

"Do you think I had forgotten to try it?!" Sauron spat back, "You always fall a few steps behind in thinking. If that Eru had planned for us to get imprisoned, then he has done a very thorough work to make sure it happened."

"You are a Maia of the Ainur, Sauron formerly-named-Mairon. Is this how all Ainu regard their Creator and Father?"

Sauron's temper flared white hot at his servant's careless dismissal of his superior status. How dare the Witch King treat him like a disobedient apprentice?! The Maia had been created before the wraith's forefathers even set step on Arda.

"And you are not allowed to use that unwisely-given information against me! You know nothing about that deity; you only met him for the first time a few days ago! Allow me to enlighten you then, my ever-inquisitive servant. Eru Ilúvatar has never taken an active role in maintaining Arda since I sang the Ainulindalë he composed. Why do you think I so fearlessly continued my former master's work? Because I knew, we all knew, that the Creator and the Ainur would never interfere. 'Oh great and mighty Sauron', you might say, 'He just spoke to me some time ago and decided to send us back to Middle-earth with some cryptic half hints on what we are supposed to accomplish.' So you think Eru would start to care now just because he felt like it? Ha! I suppose he just grew tired of being a passive watcher and now wants to play the puppeteer. I bet he is watching us right now and getting a good laugh out of our sorry situation."

"You…" The Witch King's voice was hushed, but filled with disgust, "How could the Creator ever forgive such a self-centered and vicious being as you? What did he see in you?"

Sauron should have found an equally biting remark to shoot back, but instead he found himself flashing back to that grassy meadow and Eru taking on the form of that old shepherd, where he had been encouraged to share his thoughts without fear for the first time in his life. For the first time he had admitted his discontent, fear and disappointment in his former master. Though Eru had reprimanded him for his pride, which had prevented him from begging pardon before the Valar, the Creator hadn't scorned him like Melkor had done so many times when Sauron failed.

"_In that case, I will leave the rest of the sheep to go looking for the lost one. And I will not rest until it is safely back among the flock."_

It was what Eru had said concerning him, Sauron Gorthaur, the Nameless Enemy and the Abhorred Dread, formerly mightiest among the Maiar and the source of terror of all living creatures in Middle-earth.

_First you take away my life and after that, my powers and all my dignity, Eru Ilúvatar. Yet you offer to accept me back as one of your children after my time in Middle-earth, after I incensed about every Vala in the Máhanaxar. You send me back to the world of the living with a new body, along with my most rebellious and insufferable servant, only for both of us to be incarcerated with seemly no way of escaping our execution._

_ "__Of course, you can choose whether you want to stay against the people or not. I am eager to see what you would do there," _Eru had said regarding Sauron's return to Middle-earth. Of course the Creator was interested; it must be extremely entertaining to have him thrown into his current predicament and watch how the Maia struggled along.

However that thought seemed off. If Eru had been determined to manipulate Sauron and take morbid enjoyment out of it, he sure did not act like it. The former lord of Mordor was familiar with such implications, for he had watched Melkor do so to his victims too many times to count. The fallen Vala always gained an air of gleeful malice, knowing that whatever the victims did, their final gruesome fate would always be the same.

_Eru did not show such signs. He scolded me, he rebuked me, but he never debased me. He told me I had a choice, and yet here I am. _

By then the long silence had stretched on in the dungeons. Sauron was so deeply pondering upon this foreign concept of mercy that he had forgotten his ire towards the Witch King for the moment. The wraith was also quiet as he sat unmovingly in the opposite cell, his unseen face betraying nothing of the relief of being spared from Sauron's furious rants.

_Why am I here again? Why this second chance in life if I am only to be executed two days from now? Why did Eru decide to test me back at the Black Gates? Never before did I experience such a twisted turn of events in my lifetime. If he intended for me to perish after all I have gone through since returning to Middle-earth, he wouldn't have sent me back. What game is he playing at now?_

Sauron studied his manacled arm and legs disdainfully, noting how the chains had been fastened securely to iron rings set into the rough stone walls. He tugged experimentally with his uninjured arm, receiving nothing but a cacophonous jangle and an annoyed glare from the Witch King.

"Do not bother to pull free from your bonds," The wraith said shortly, "These kind of chains and manacles are normally reserved for the most nefarious of prisoners, able to resist the pull of the strongest man. Without either of our powers, we are no more than mere inmates sentenced to be executed."

"So this is it? Eru sent us back to die in two days because he thought once wasn't enough. You would think that deity had something better planned in mind from the way he snatched us both from our prospective fates." Sauron scoffed.

"Sauron," The Witch King seemed to be struggling to keep himself from snapping back angrily, "Can you stop disparaging the Creator of Arda for once, you loathsome ingrate, and disclose what exactly he said to you. Perhaps we can actually receive a clue regarding the purpose of our return."

_Arghh! How much more can I take of the Witch King's infuriating mannerism?! _Sauron snarled to himself, _I tried to knock reason into him hundreds of years ago while I was at my full power. Now that I only have my words at my disposal, he will rail at me until Mas- er… Melkor breaks out of the Void._

_ The Void… Eru had mentioned something about the prophecies of Námo just before he sent me back. That lugubrious dreamer prophesied only twice from what I remember, the first after the Kinslaying at Alqualondë and the second, right after the War of Wrath._

"The Dagor Dagorath…" Sauron murmured in realization.

"Excuse me?"

"The Second Prophecy of Námo. So this was why Eru sent us back, to see the end times of Middle-earth…"

"You are not making any sense." The rest of the Witch King's confused response went unheard as Sauron gradually understood the implication of Eru's purpose for sending him back.

_He said he was eager to see what I would do with my new life, and conveniently hinted that this Second Prophecy would come to fulfillment. It would happen during my time in Middle-earth… Melkor will break free of his imprisonment in the Void and wage war against all the inhabitants of Arda once again. I would have to confront him once more…_

Sauron shuddered violently as he recalled what the fallen Vala would have done to him back in the Void had not Eru spirited him away. There was no way he would willingly join the ranks of Melkor's servants as the prophecy had stated, but as long as he stayed on Middle-earth now that Eru had sent him back, he would see the return of his former master.

The cold tendrils of fear began to clutch at his entire being as his breaths quickened in panic.

_No, I cannot endure another minute of service under… him. Why? Why, Eru, did you send me back at a time like this? Which would have been better? Being forced to serve again or fight against him in the Dagor Dagorath? Both choices lead to certain death!_

"Of course, the Final Day," The Witch King's loud declaration effectively tore Sauron away from his growing horror for now, "The Light and Fire of the Final Dawn. So that scrap of poetry Ilúvatar uttered was related to the end times, after all."

"And now the reproacher changes into the rambler. What is this poetry you speak of?"

For once, the Witch King did not argue back as he recited a short poem in his low sonorous voice,

"Mercy of Eru Ilúvatar incarnate,

In the Light and Fire of the Final Dawn.

Upon them, they carry Arda's fate,

On their dawning the battle will be won.

The Light and Fire, seemly come too late,

Shall herald the call of the Final Day."

_Hmm… I am certain Námo did not utter these words in his prophecy, _Sauron thought, _If this is truly what Eru had said to the Witch King, then there is no doubt that this prophecy would come to pass during our time on Middle-earth. What a bitter irony… If I ever receive the change to speak with Eru again, I have many, many questions to ask him, if I am feeling merciful that is. I ought to give him a tongue-lashing for what he did to me! Knowing full well that the prophecy is about to be fulfilled, he sends me to suffer whatever trials Dagor Dagorath will bring!_

_ Though if Eru had not intervened, would I have remained in the Void and serve Melkor again when he returns?_

At that implication, Sauron's turmoiled thoughts ceased to roil around aimlessly. Again, he did not receive a choice in this, as in almost everything he did. It was either service under Melkor's cruel hand or a role to play against him in the Final Battle.

_Eru did not state explicitly that I must take part in the Dagor Dagorath. Maybe I should hide myself away and watch the two sides slaughter each other. Indeed, this is a sound plan, if only I can break out of this accursed prison!_

"Although I find it an immense relief to have you silent for so long, I ask a further explanation of this so-called 'Dagor Dagorath' and the 'Second Prophecy'." Again it was the Witch King who interrupted the Maia's thinking. To his own slight surprise, he found this as a repose from his increasingly dark thinking.

"I am certain you met Námo already in the Halls of Mandos after you perished in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. The Vala who judges the slain, perpetually gloomy and wearing a frown, prophesies in that self-confident attitude of his. When the Valar dragged my former master out of Angband in the aftermath of the War of Wrath, Námo apparently decided it was an opportune moment to utter one where I could hear him."

The Vala's words had disturbed Sauron greatly, considering that he had been hiding in Angband with a somewhat enlightened mood despite wallowing in a confused daze. At first he had felt a perplexed sense of loss upon having his master taken away, though it gradually evolved into a profound and crippling _relief _in a way he did not understand. Námo's prophecy soon quashed that emotion as soon as "the Black Enemy" was mentioned.

"Empty darkness is stirring, ancient evil is arising,

The Doors of Night are broken, the Black Enemy escaping,

The Sun and Moon destroyed, everlasting night falling,

Upon Middle-earth, where the Free Peoples reside.

Taking up arms in imminent war, all four races unite,

Defending their land, to their deaths they will fight.

Despair shall fall upon multitudes, many battles fought amain,

Weeping shall be heard, countless tears shed over the slain,

Dagor Dagorath has commenced, hope is searched in vain.

Yet the lost shall be found, the fallen finally risen,

A crucial choice shall be made, enmity finally forgiven,

When the Light and Fire of the Final Day to the heavens ascend."

Sauron remembered the grim words well as he intoned the prophecy, even thousands of years had passed since he first heard it. Each verse held a heavy weight, a foreboding air that would immediately silence a roomful of conversing people should they be spoken aloud.

_I understood it well; the first part is fairly straightforward. Melkor will return from the Void, though I had vainly hoped that I would have conquered Middle-earth by then. Even then, he would not praise me. He would demand my service again without a word of gratitude._

"My former master will return with his full potent might and power," Sauron said mostly to himself, "He will fight against the people of Middle-earth once again."

"You do not sound as pleased as you should be."

"Pleased that a Vala known for cruelty and takes pleasure in humiliating his victims is about to return right after we were sent back to Middle-earth? I may be what you so vehemently accuse me, utterly self-centered, but I am not dim-witted!"

Only when these words left his mouth did Sauron realize what he had disclosed. Sure enough, the Witch King had frozen in the middle of composing a reply. The Maia was certain that his unseen face was now wearing an expression of growing surprise.

_Confound it all! I should have known better than granting him leverage to use against me!_

"He treated you unfairly while you were still under his service." Was all the other said.

"None of that is your concern, wraith." Sauron replied sullenly.

"You knew what it was like to be a servant," The Witch King continued, "And you knew mistreatment and a master who was never satisfied with your obedience."

_What is this, a servant lecturing his master? He knows nothing at all, and yet he behaves as if he has learned all the lore of Middle-earth! Who was the one who lived through the First Age, the one who saw the rise and fall of countless kingdoms? Who was the one who…?_

_ Who… served… under Melkor… for an entire age… unappreciated… disappointed… fearfully?_

"I am warning you, Witch King, to not pry into matters no mere mortal can comprehend." Sauron said curtly.

"I believe of all mortals I am the one who comprehends the most. You _knew _a cruel master, yet when the rank is passed on to you, you foolishly follow in his example," The Witch King's voice was beginning to build in anger, "I realize only now that I had served an unfair master who had been mistreated in turn! Any being would have seen the destructive consequences such an action would bring, and yet Sauron Gorthaur is blind to all. While most would have vowed to put an end to this, he instead enforces the bitterness of his own sufferings upon his own servants!"

That was it for Sauron. All the previous irritation and brief surges of anger became nothing compared to the roaring fury that reared up in him at those words. He sprang up again and stormed over to the bars of his cell, fully intent on showing the Witch King a piece of his mind.

"Do _not _compare me to the One Who Mars, the being responsible for all that is unwholesome in Middle-earth! I was more merciful towards you than he ever was to me, Witch King, so you have no right to accuse me of being cruel. When have I ever punished you out of spite, out of the mere desire to vent my own frustrations?!" The Maia flung back to the other.

"Had you not given me a reason to rebel I would have stayed complacent. Or shall I once against lament upon the fact that you have selected me to become one of your accursed Ringwraiths?"

"And now you place the blame upon me when the choice to accept my gift was yours! You grow ever unreasonable, wraith. If my powers were at my disposal, the first thing I will use it for is to silence your lying mouth!"

"You are free to do so, Sauron, for this reinforces the fact that you, despite each argument you have uttered, are the same as the master who once held power over you."

_Why you…! I am _not _anything like Melkor! How dare he make such preposterous assumptions when he has never seen him before!_

"Silence! I order you to be silent at once!" Sauron shouted furiously, liking nothing more than to seize the Witch King by his robes and shake hard, "You know nothing! You know nothing at all!"

By then their voices had drawn the attention of the soldiers standing guard outside of the dungeon, which in itself was a miracle since the argument had gone on for a while. Their armored forms soon came descending down the stairs, and a couple of them unlocked the doors of Sauron's cell. He flung himself at them instinctively, not caring that he was chained and had one broken arm. His rage and frustration at his former servant fueled him to once again kick and struggle against the soldiers that surrounded him, though his efforts did little to stop them from tying a gag on his mouth.

"Silence yourself. Isn't it more productive to spend your last two days alive to ponder over your transgressions instead of picking arguments?" One of them said sarcastically.

Sauron could only manage a muffled sound of anger and glared heatedly at the soldiers, who merely locked the cell again and left the dungeons without another word. A quick glance over at the Witch King's direction revealed that he had not received the same treatment.

"Few men are willing to lay their hands on an insubstantial being such as I, and you were the one who did most of the arguing." The wraith answered his unspoken inquiry with a sudden weariness as he removed his battle-helm and set it by his side, "I regret ever asking you about that prophecy. Any attempt to speak peaceably with you will end in another clash of wills."

The only sound Sauron could make was a scornful humph.

_Of course. Thousands of years of festering hate and resentment on his part and irritation and frustration on my part would do wonders. _He thought, _Why did Eru have to send the Witch King, of all my servants, back to living? I could have had that ever obnoxious Mouth fawning at my feet, or terrified Khamûl into obeying me. But no! He had to select that one servant who dares to rebel and defy me! Then he had to send me back when the Dagor Dagoreth is about to come to fruition! Eru may have given me new life, however, so far it proves to be no better than returning to Melkor._

_ And I am nothing like him, never._

And so his dark thoughts simmered now that the Maia was even robbed of the power of speech. The time spent in Eru's sheep fields seemed so distant, including Sauron's first admittance of regretting his service under Melkor and his agreement to come back to the Ainur once again. Both deeds were done in the spur of the moment, for Sauron genuinely wanted out of the Void. But as he remembered the Creator's words concerning his punishment, he cursed himself once more for believing that new life was not as simple as enduring another few Ages.

_"You will continue to struggle against your conscience, fear and former self, Mairon, alongside with dealing the people who will always shun and despise you. You will retain your name, always as an abhorrence and abomination to the people of Arda until the day you can bend your pride."_

_ So it all starts with my former servant. I cannot wait to see how the rest of these pathetic lords and captains would treat me. _Sauron thought sarcastically, _If this was the treatment I am to receive…_

_ Then what would have been better? Humiliation or bound servitude again?_

* * *

"My lady Éowyn. Are you certain that your wound is not bothering you more than it should?" A man's voice suddenly cut through the chaotic and confused thoughts that were currently swirling through the Shieldmaiden of Rohan's mind.

Éowyn blinked, and then turned her attention to the speaker. Faramir had apparently chosen this inopportune time to visit her at her chamber in the Houses of Healing. Normally she would have welcomed his reassuring presence greatly, but now she wanted to be left completely alone as she took in this new turn of events.

"I am fine. Since I awoke from my swoon my wounds have not hindered me." Éowyn returned shortly.

"You seem disturbed this day." He caught on her agitation.

"How can I not be," Éowyn ground out as she recalled that single frozen moment when she first heard the news, "I struck the killing blow, and yet he lives."

Faramir looked fatigued as he leant against a pillar, "Yes, the wraith, the Witch King of Angmar. I once hoped that the news was false, but the panic of the city soon proved me wrong. From what I heard from Aragorn and his companions, they had also captured Sauron himself, albeit in human form and absent of any sort of powers. Both of them reside now in the dungeons on the Seventh Level. They may have been executed already, or due to in a few days…"

_Should I become worried that I do not distress myself over the return of Sauron more than I should? _Éowyn soon became uncharacteristically lost in her thoughts once again, _The scourge of Middle-earth has been defeated permanently, and a new era of peace is about to dawn on us all. I had paid my own price to see this victory…_

"King Théoden did not perish in vain, my lady." Faramir suddenly brought up.

Her breath caught in her throat as she clenched her fingers in a tight fist. _Why must he bring up what is tormenting me the most at this moment?_

"Then what did he perish for? The Ringwraith slew him in battle, and I returned the favor. Now it is my uncle who lies dead, and his enemy alive and well in the world of the living."

Faramir flinched visibly at the cold steely tone of her voice, and whatever words he sought to comfort her died from his lips. Éowyn appreciated his silence, for no honeyed words or assuring sentences would have assuaged the sense of unjustness of this whole situation.

_A life for a life, and yet the Witch King of Angmar defies this simple rule of war. I wish this were a grave misunderstanding, news from the frayed nerves of a nearly-fallen city. But Faramir speaks right of the unease of the people in Minas Tirith. I can feel their fear and doubt permeating even the Houses of Healing._

_ Oh, Uncle Théoden… if only you can hear me now in the Halls of Mandos. What would you say if you saw things as they are now, that I have failed to avenge you? You fell bravely in battle, standing firm even when the Ringwraiths scattered the Rohirrim with their cries of death. The halfing Merry and I barely slew the one who killed you and escaped with our lives…_

Éowyn tried not to recall her early years, in which Théoden immediately took her and her brother Éomer under his care after their parents died and raised them both along with their cousin Théodred. The king, who had become a second father to her, raised them as his own, personally taught her horse-riding skills, her letters, the many advices of being a good leader, a little swordsmanship and many others. He had been always present for any important life event, a constant supporting presence that never failed to appear. He had played with them while they were still children, spoke with them in attempts to communicate as they became older. Éowyn had loved nothing more than sitting down with her uncle in that small cozy parlor at Meduseld with a blazing fire roaring away in the hearth and a cup of hot mead warming up her hands as she told him of her troubles. Théoden would always listen carefully, his sharp gaze glinting beneath his circlet of gold, before patiently offering his advice and even attempting to lighten her mood with his wry sense of humor. His jesting often admittedly fall short, but Éowyn laughed all the same simply because he tried.

Then came Gríma Wormtongue and his whispered lies and falsehoods. No one knew where he came from or how he gained his seemly sound wisdom, but soon he was Théoden's chief advisor. Éowyn, her brother and Théodred, as well as many of the king's close officials, had noticed the unearthly effect Gríma's words had on Théoden, how they shouldn't have affected him so much that he became distrustful, bitter and most disturbingly of all, weak in body and mind. She could do nothing to stop this decline, for all her pleadings and reasonings fell on deaf ears. Éowyn could do nothing but to watch her beloved uncle descend into madness day after day. There was nothing she could have done except to reverse their roles, so now she became the one who took care of Théoden and did her best to prevent his health from declining further.

Éowyn had cursed Wormtongue silently, loathing how he always gazed at her lecherously and yet helpless again to do anything about it. By then he had gained enough power as Théoden grew weaker; he became spokesperson of the king himself. No one could act against the advisor without severe retribution, neither was anyone bold enough to try. She had considered striking him down by the sword, but as soon as she curled her fingers around the hilt of it, Wormtongue had spoken in that greasy smooth voice of his.

"You want to slay me. I can see it in your eyes, little shieldmaiden, so do not attempt to conceal your intentions any longer. But know this: as soon as you draw in my presence, I will make sure your beloved uncle suffers even further from his ailment. I appreciate a fighter, but if you hinder my plans in any way, your uncle shall not be the only one who will face the consequences."

His threat was real. The next day Théoden was delirious in a high fever that afflicted him with violent fits. Éowyn did not know what type of dark magic Wormtongue was capable of, but she backed down without protest. That night for the first time since her uncle became ensnared, the shieldmaiden wept openly beside his bed when the fever finally abated. What had they done to deserve this kind of suffering, in which she was unable to fight back against it? Her heart ached with a wrenching pain to see the once dignified King Théoden lying there looking so frail and spent. This time Éowyn cursed herself for her helplessness, for allowing herself to be cowed by that worm of a man. But she could not fight back, not without having her uncle suffering again.

And then came the day when Théodred fell in battle holding the Fords of Isen against the White Wizard turned-traitor Saruman. The people of Rohan had despaired, knowing that the aging King Théoden now left no heir to succeed his kingship, though their dismay could not compare to the sorrow both Éowyn and Éomer felt. They had grown up with their cousin for most of their lives and known him as another sibling. Éowyn did not know whether Wormtongue was also responsible for this, but she was sure he was not completely innocent. Since the day he came into her uncle's court, misfortune had been falling frequently on their the House of Eorl.

And Éowyn could do nothing about it, once again.

And so this cycle of self-blame ceased when Gandalf Greyhame came and healed the king. Éowyn had been so overjoyed to see the years fade from his countenance as he stood up straight again, his eyes once again sharp and unclouded, so much that she dismissed Wormtongue from her mind.

Then Théoden rode for the East, leaving her behind to care for Meduseld. They had not exchanged as many words as Éowyn would have liked, though he had given her the tender fatherly smile she had missed so much.

"I cannot thank you enough for your care while I was still under Saruman's control. And now Rohan needs your guidance while we are gone. Defend the people as ruler, for your fight is here, in our homeland where the Dark Lord of Mordor must never touch. Remember what I have taught you, and the people of Rohan will love you all the more. I may or may not return from this eastward march to Gondor's aid, but know this: I am proud of everything you have done for me and the country, my dear child. I could not ask for a better daughter."

Éowyn swallowed down a sob that was threatening to choke its way out, while at the same time noticing that Faramir had departed. He had left behind a bundle of folded dark blue cloth on the small table at her bedside, revealed to be a heavy cloak as the shieldmaiden shook it out and, with some difficulty due to her broken left arm in a sling, draped it around her shoulders.

_I appreciate his thought of leaving me alone, as well as this generous gift. Once I might have been touched at his actions, but I cannot… I cannot forget my sorrow. Now that I look back at the time of my infatuation with Lord Aragorn, it seems to be the inane and unrealistic dreams of an innocent young maiden. I barely knew him, but Théoden I have known for my entire life. In a way I had lost both… _

_ Théoden should not have died as he did. He should have fought to his final breath, not brought down by a single dart from that Ringwraith. I should have been at his side for his final words. Even if I hadn't, the Witch King should have stayed dead to pay for the life he took from me._

Éowyn stood, the voluminous cloak swishing behind her as she left her chambers in the Houses of Healing and made her way out into the streets of Minas Tirith. The Warden, Nimhad, tried to stop her, though he acquiesced when the shieldmaiden told him that she was only going out on a stroll to clear her mind.

_If only I could hear your counsel, Uncle. I barely had any time to speak to you before the Battle of the Pelennor Fields, never knowing that I would never do so again. You left no last words either, nor a final request or instruction…_

She had gone to the Hallows earlier, the burial place of the Kings, Stewards and important men of Gondor, to visit Théoden. He was still clad in his golden armor with his sword Herugrim grasped in his folded hands. Lying on the embalmer's table unmovingly, the king almost looked asleep with his eyes closed and his mouth open slightly. Éowyn half-expected her uncle to suddenly stir, sit up groggily and demand why was he lying on such a hard unyielding bed.

In the end Théoden did not, for he was gone. It was only a body he left behind, the body of an uncle who once doted on her and treated her as his own daughter.

The shieldmaiden gritted her teeth and dismissed that train of thought forcibly. If she followed it, she would break down uncontrollably in tears once again as she had done in the embalmer's chambers.

She instead recalled her brief facedown with the Witch King, how he had responded to her challenge with that soul-chilling voice of his. His presence had frozen her with terror until she mustered all her will to fight; even that alone had been difficult. The wraith was much stronger than she was, and more skilled in swordsmanship. In fact, it would be safe to say that without Merry's intervention she would have met her death then and there.

Then everything had changed.

The Witch King had been brought to his knees by that wound his leg, his mace falling from one hand as he leant heavily against his sword. He had then lifted his helm, and spoke the next two words that continued to disturb her.

_"Kill me."_

She could not see his face, but she heard the urgent desperation in his voice.

_"Do it now."_

The wraith no longer sounded unearthly, like a creature of the undead. It had been the voice of a man Éowyn had heard, a deep and weary voice that petitioned her to end him.

_"You have my thanks…" _He whispered right after her sword pierced his chest, before his form lost its shape and collapsed into a pile of robes and armor, once again belying the fact that he was a disembodied spirit in the service of the Dark Lord.

_Why? Why did he willingly ask me to strike the final blow? Was it Merry's blade that undid him, and knowing that he had failed his master, he would rather perish in battle? Or was he a coward, seeing that there was no way out and so asked me to end it all?_

_ Does it matter? Whether that wraith wanted me to slay him or not, he should have perished and stayed in whatever damnation his kind is subject to! I wish this was but false news, or a dreadful dream brought by the effects of the Black Breath. Perhaps I am still lying in the Houses of Healing in a deep slumber…_

_ Or not._

Éowyn's feet had unconsciously taken her to the Seventh Level of Minas Tirith, where the House of the Stewards was built and where the dungeons were situated. It was only then when she remembered what Faramir had said regarding the imprisonment of the supposedly resurrected Sauron and the wraith she had slain.

_Since I am here, I must see for myself the truth of the news._

The shieldmaiden proceeded on, crossing the wide courtyard that housed the White Tree of Gondor and the tall arching doors of the House itself. Here the winds blew more strongly than the lower levels, whipping her unbound hair into her eyes and tugging insistently at her cloak. Brushing aside the golden locks from her face, it was that moment when she caught sight of the legion of armed Gondorian soldiers standing guard outside of an iron-wrought gate set into a structure built right beside the House.

_If Sauron and the Witch King are held imprisoned anywhere in Minas Tirith, it would be here._

Éowyn strode towards the guards, who immediately stood to attention and shifted their weapons to the ready.

"It is the Lady of the Shield-arm." Said one whom she recognized to be the commander from the more elaborate helm he wore compared to the others, "Hail the dauntless maiden who slew the Lord of the Nazgûl singlehandedly!"

The other soldiers repeated their "hails" in their loud and ringing voices. For a while Éowyn was slightly overwhelmed; she had forgotten that her deeds in battle must have earned her recognition and praise, though she felt no pride at the accomplishment.

"Hail no one but the soon-to-be-king Lord Aragorn," Éowyn returned without emotion, "Save your adulation until the wraith is well and truly departed from this world. He lies here within this dungeon, does he not?"

The commander hesitated, no doubt knowing he had probably offended the shieldmaiden in some way, before replying, "Indeed he does, as well as one formerly known as the Nameless Enemy. They are due to be executed in two days, my lady, so there is no need to distress yourself over their seemly improbable resurrection… Hold on, you cannot just march in there!"

Éowyn had pushed her way through the guards to move towards the iron door, which surprisingly was secured only by a solid wooden latch. That she lifted with her good right hand and swung the door open inwards with a resounding clang of metal against stone. Then the shieldmaiden was striding down the flight of wide steps into the unexpectedly well-illuminated prison area lined with empty cells on both sides.

Time seemed to slow, even as the soldiers came clomping down after her. Éowyn was able to take in her surroundings carefully, and notice the two figures held in opposite cells. Though the light that shined through holes in the ceiling did not reach them well, she could see the cell occupants quite clearly.

One was a young man with shoulder-length light brown hair, a seemly harmless inmate from his close resemblance to an elf. He had one arm in a sling, though he was bound in chains by his wrists and ankles even in his injured state. He had been gagged, but his storm gray eyes spoke of surprise as Éowyn appeared.

The other cell held the Witch King himself.

The wraith she had faced off against had removed his helm and his other armaments for battle, leaving only a black-robed and heavily hooded figure that also sat bound with chains. He had also lifted his head at her unexpected entrance, and Éowyn once again felt that familiar chill to see that he had no face beneath the hood.

Here was the unearthly spirit that slew her beloved uncle as if his life mattered less than those of the orcs. Éowyn had finally proven her worth by avenging Théoden's death, and yet here he sat, looking as if he had never perished under her sword.

Then the guards arrived, one of them laying a hand on her arm and pulling gently but insistently. The shieldmaiden suddenly lost that impulse that caused her to barge in here at the first place and allowed herself to be escorted out without another word.

But just before she turned around, she heard a low full-toned voice speak solemnly from behind.

"Shieldmaiden Éowyn."

Anything more he might have said escaped her hearing, for she was now out of the dungeons exposed to the cold biting wind again. The iron door shut behind her hollowly, and she heard no more words that might have come from within.

"That was utterly uncalled for and a pointless risk to take, my lady. Though the two of them are incarcerated securely, there is still a chance that you might have met a nasty end going in there alone," The Gondorian commander was visibly distressed, "I will dispatch two guards to escort you back to the Houses of Healing."

"That will not be necessary. I have seen for myself that the news is true; my purpose here is finished." Éowyn's dignified audacity had returned, "I will escort myself."

With that, she was off, walking back towards the Houses with long sure steps until she was out of sight and well down in the Sixth Level. Only then did the shieldmaiden slow down, wrapping her cloak closer around her and glancing upwards.

_What _was _I thinking back then? _She thought, _In a way I already knew this to be true. Nothing else would have unsettled Minas Tirith like this. There was no need for me to abuse my privilege of been released under the healers' care to stir up the two prisoners._

_ Was that truly the Dark Lord of Mordor? He looks more of an Elf than a being of great evil, though I understand his appearance may be deceiving. They say he has lost all his powers. This is certainly true; he would have never allowed himself to be bound and gagged. He would have destroyed the city first before that happened._

A sudden chill coursed through her, and Éowyn shivered a little as she continued to recall now that everything had calmed down.

_What of the wraith then? When I saw him, I did not feel that irrational fear that assaulted the Rohirrim and me in the Battle of the Pelennor Fields. He has somehow lost his terrible aura of despair. In fact if I faced against him in his current state, I might have had a greater chance of triumphing over him, not to mention my uncle possibly surviving the battle. The wraith is now but an ordinary being in all but appearance…_

_ Why did he call me by name? I remember declaring it to him when I saw the irony of his claim that no man may hinder him. But he has no cause to remember it, or simply intone it after seeing the enemy. I should have been greeted with curses or threats._

_ And that voice… is the same that spoke the petition for death. It is the voice of man. If I had closed my eyes, I would have seen a mortally wounded soldier asking me calmly to free him from his suffering. If he had been Gondorian or of the Rohirrim… but it had been one of Sauron's greatest and most terrible servants who had asked it…_

Éowyn soon entered the Houses of Healing once again, crossing the grassy courtyard that surrounded the outer colonnade. She spotted a tall cloaked figure carrying a helm with a white horsetail on its peak leaning against one of the pillars, who turned around as soon as she stepped onto the stone pathway.

"I am glad to see that you are well enough to be up and about," Said her brother, Éomer, "The Warden told me you should be back shortly, though I did not expect so soon. How is your arm?"

"It is mending. The healers said it would be months before I can use it fully though." Éowyn was glad of his asking, for it served to distract her from her thoughts.

"Until then, I shall assist you whenever you need it. For the meantime, you must not go wandering off in Minas Tirith without an escort. You have heard how the march onto Mordor had yielded a captured Sauron. Until he is executed, we cannot be sure of what mischief he is able to cause." Éomer said worriedly.

_He has grown more fretful as of late, though I appreciate his concern. What is this war doing to all of us?_

"There is nothing to worry about, Brother. I have seen the Dark Lord."

Éomer stared at her in shock.

"And the wraith I slew on the Pelennor Fields."

"You… you…" He recovered enough to sputter, "Tell me you did not go near the prison on your short 'walk'!"

"I did. I entered it myself and saw the two prisoners with my own two eyes. The Dark Lord was injured and bound in chains. If he had been planning something nefarious against Minas Tirith, he would have executed it already without hesitation, and you, I and everyone in the city would be dead. I believe Mithrandir's words to be true, that Sauron has lost all of his powers." Éowyn said a little more forcefully than she liked, for Éomer now looked as if he were about to launch into a long lecture about her risking her life so blatantly. In the end her brother sighed instead and shook his head wearily.

"I do not understand why would you wish to do so. You almost met your end at the hands of the wraith. Have you forgotten how the Witch King slew our uncle and nearly you also?"

"You too, brother? Do you not worry yourself over the resurrected Sauron more?" Éowyn realized with a start.

The other grimaced, "I am aware of my seemly misaligned priorities. Each of the races of course holds enmity against the Dark Lord, and I know that the Battle of the Pelennor Fields was of his doing. But the wraith killed King Théoden personally, and I saw him about to allow his foul winged beast to devour his body. He has wronged the House of Eorl too many times to be forgotten."

The shieldmaiden winced as she tried not to delve into her regrets and doubts once more, though a renewed wave of sorrow swept through her at the mentioning of Théoden. Suddenly none of it mattered to her, neither her troubled observations nor her absurd comparisons of the wraith to a man.

_My visit to the dungeons has accomplished nothing, other than reaffirming the fact that he is alive and unsettling my thinking. So what if the wraith either survived his wound or was brought back from the dead? He is now powerless as well, and it would not be difficult to end him a second time, or even a third and fourth time if necessary. I will slay him as many times as it takes for him to stay dead._

_ Uncle Théoden, you deserve to have complete vengeance for your death. This is what I can do at least._

"Éomer, when is the execution to be carried out?" The shieldmaiden suddenly asked coolly.

"Two days from now, although I would have liked it much better if Lord Aragorn did it straight away. There is no sense in waiting," Éomer was a little taken back at his sister's coldness, "Why do you ask?"

"Please go to Lord Aragorn on my behalf, and ask him to allow me to wield the executioner's sword. I will strike the Witch King's killing blow."

Éomer did not respond straight away at her foreboding request. He let out a small sigh and closed his eyes, his face carrying an expression of heavy pain. But in the end he did not advise against her nor convince her out of it, and for that Éowyn was grateful.

"Very well. I do not like to see my little sister as an executioner, but considering your heroic deeds in the battle, I have no right to deny your request. May Lord Aragorn grant it, and may you finally avenge Uncle Théoden's death." The Rohirric marshal finally gave in.

As quickly as her icy determination came, it faded away when Éowyn saw how weary her brother now looked. The burdens of the momentous events in the past few days must be taken their toll on him greatly.

Éowyn gave him a wry smile, "I am no longer the young lass you grew up with and play-fought with toy swords. How many times must I remind you that I can handle most things by myself?"

"You are still my sister, my only living kin now that Théoden is gone. I will never forgive myself if I willingly allowed you to risk your life and died as a result. Once is enough for me." Éomer replied solemnly, "If your request is granted and should you feel overwhelmed when you hold the sword, I will take over."

"No, I will do it, for Rohan, and for the memory of Théoden Ednew," Éowyn said firmly, "When my blade descends upon the wraith, he shall regret the day he ever chose our uncle to slay."

* * *

It was now nighttime in Minas Tirith, and most inhabitants of the city had retired back to their houses and prepared to rest. None of them would sleep easy though, knowing that how close their home had come to be destroyed by Sauron. The front gates were still in ruin, though another legion of Gondorian soldiers and the Rohirrim were stationed there.

It was during this watchful night that Gandalf made his appearance at the entrance of the dungeons. The prison guard had been doubled in the chance that the two would attempt something foul in the shadows. But many of the soldiers were a little displeased at this point, having stood guard since the early dawn. Some had already sat down on the cold stone ground with their weapons laid beside them as they conversed over pints of ale.

"If Sauron and the Witch King actually had the powers to break out of the dungeons, you would have all been dead by now and Minas Tirith burning into ash." The Wizard spoke reprovingly, "Iorem, you must supervise your men more strictly."

Most of the guards sprang up in alarm, scrambling for their weapons. They soon relaxed when they spotted the White Wizard. The commander whom was addressed as Iorem immediately came forward.

"Many apologies, Mithrandir. My men are weary, and I do not have enough soldiers to set a system of watches. Nevertheless, rest be assured that it shall not happen again."

"And it would not," The Wizard promised, "You and your men may take a short rest now that I am here. I need to speak with the prisoners."

Iorem looked uncertain at this, but agreed when Gandalf told him that it would not take all night, and that the guards would still be present at their stations as they rested.

Soon Gandalf was in the now dark dungeons, where no one had taken the liberties of lighting a lamp in the inky blackness. So he lit the top of his staff with a whispered command and descended carefully down the steps, his makeshift lamp casting a stark white glow in the entire underground chamber. There was the sound of rattling chains on both sides as he approached.

"Gandalf." The Witch King's voice called out on the left, "Why have you come?"

The tall hooded figure had stood up in his cell along with his heavy manacles, the low ceiling forcing him to stoop.

"I have come to receive answers." Gandalf answered simply, "Seeing that no one is about to find out on their own, I have come to hear of the circumstances concerning your return. Where is Mairon? I wish for him to speak also."

"Mairon? Is that not…"

"His preferred name, of course. No one would wish to be called an abomination, and I feel that he would answer more easily should I show goodwill towards him."

"He would not be able to answer you in the opposite cell. The guards gagged him in the fear that his complaints may bring down the roof." There was bitter sarcasm in the other's voice.

Gandalf raised his staff and peered intently into the depths of the other cell. A rather bedraggled-looking face greeted him, though the other Maia's gray eyes burned with the intensity of his unspoken words trapped behind the coarse rag tied around his mouth. No doubt Sauron would erupt into a rant of all the unjustness he had suffered so far. The Wizard had always known the other as a verbally-inclined individual, not to mention haughty and self-confident.

Sauron did not show any of it outwardly as he allowed Gandalf to reach through the bars to undo his gag. It was always when he opened his mouth when he betrayed his festering anger.

"The nerve of those Gondorian dogs! How dare they-"

"Here, you must be hungry by now," Gandalf interrupted, producing a loaf of bread and bottle of mead somewhere from within his robes, "Eat first, then feel free to speak afterwards."

Sauron gave the Wizard a scathing look, "I do not require human sustenance, nor do I desire to partake in it, considering the quality of food prisoners are given."

There was suddenly an audible rumble.

"I am afraid it is no longer so, Mairon. You have gone far too long without a physical body to know the basic needs of one."

So Sauron took the food with a dark glower on his face and retreated to the back of his cell. Gandalf was slightly surprised that the defiant Maia had apparently given up without much of a fight before remembering that Sauron, though constantly refusing any sort of submission to another's will, still sometimes gave in when he saw it more beneficial.

"Did the heir of Isildur send you, or did you come of your own volition?" The Witch King asked.

"I was indeed sent." Gandalf turned to face the wraith.

"Why are you helping us? I saw how you delayed telling the truth to prevent us from being executed straight away, apparently giving up your companions' trust to keep the enemy alive. Were you informed to do so?"

"Of course he was informed," Sauron's disgruntled voice sounded muffled, "That is Olórin the Maia you are looking at. I would imagine that he also went before the Valar or a certain Creator of Arda sometime in his life. Should I be thankful, or expect something more?"

To trust that the former Dark Lord would be informed so extensively about the events beyond his realm. Sauron must have somehow received news of Gandalf's demise after he slew the Balrog of Moria, seen the revived Wizard at the Black Gates and put the two and two together.

And so Gandalf told them. His departed spirit had been summoned before Eru Ilúvatar himself instead of returning to Valinor, where he would become Olórin the Maia of Manwë once again. Eru had been pleased with his work in Middle-earth and had promised a rich reward when his task was finally done. At this Gandalf had asked confusedly if he had indeed finished his work, though how unfinished it may seem.

"Not yet. There is still much in store for you and Middle-earth. For this reason I am sending you back as the sole emissary of the Valar. You shall see the downfall of the one you were to defend the free peoples against. Continue to aid them, and this time you shall be allowed to unveil your power as a Maia to better stand firm in the midst of trial and difficulties." Eru had spoken in that assuring fatherly voice of his.

Then they had spoken long. Gandalf expressed his grief and disappointment over Saruman's betrayal, his doubts of the quest and told of his worries for the members of the Fellowship. Eru interestingly enough did not speak as much as the Wizard would have expected; he listened, offered a little commentary here and there, sighed and was often silent as he thought. However in the end just as Gandalf was to depart, the Creator had seemly broken into a wide smile and bid him those words,

"Worry no longer, Olórin. Just as I have watched over the Fellowship when they set out from Rivendell as one group, so shall I look after them should they happen to scatter. Your quest shall succeed, though many cannot live to celebrate it in the mortal realm. Yet I shall gather them in the Timeless Halls where they shall live forevermore in my presence. Therefore, go in peace, my child, and continue to aid the people of Middle-earth, especially those who have called upon my name."

Gandalf certainly did not disclose the details of his conversations with Eru; he only spoke of Eru's bidding right before he found himself lying battered but alive on the peak of the Celebdil. The Wizard had not pondered on it further, for few in Middle-earth remembered the name of the One Who Is. It was only when the Witch King spoke the forgotten name that he recalled this strange addendum, and the later appearance of Sauron cemented its meaning. His earlier pity for his fellow Maia and subsequent actions to save him from his severe wounds had only been the beginning.

Because Gandalf now knew what he had commanded to do, absurd and disregarding the hard-won victory it may seem.

Both occupants of the dungeons were silent after his short tale.

"A groundless order," Sauron scoffed, "I do not see why you should heed it when Eru spoke in that vague and perplexing manner of his."

The Wizard frowned slightly at the other's blatant disrespect towards the Father who had given life to the Ainur. However, his insight reminded him that the fallen Maia had been estranged from Eru since Melkor descended into Eä and constructed the fortress of Utumno. It must have been a long time since Sauron had experienced any semblance of mercy or kindness from another.

"That may be. However, you must remember that he does not speak any excessive words. If Eru asked me to pay marked attention to those who have uttered his name, then I shall, even to the Dark Lord or his servants. Now tell me your stories, both of you, so that I may decide how I may best aid you." Gandalf replied firmly.

Sauron was again silenced, presumably unsure to make of this new turn of events. But the Witch King, who had been watching the Wizard carefully for a long while now, finally spoke,

"You gave up much of your credibility and earned the hostility of your allies for the preservation of the enemy. If you continue to help us in any way, there may be little chance that you may regain it."

Gandalf ignored Sauron's disbelieving protest to mull over this valid fact. Indeed he had been pained by the distrustful looks he had been confronted with when he explained that he would get to the bottom of the whole situation. When he remembered his conversation with Eru though, he found that he could reply, however contradictory his answer may be.

"Which is more important, seeking the approval of men or of Eru? Should I choose the latter, I shall trust that the former will come in time. For Eru does not leave those who listen to him without recompense."

Gandalf did not expect them to understand this fully. But he said it all the same, since he had a hunch that the two would be facing the same dilemma soon, perhaps repeatedly.

* * *

**I apologize if this chapter seems to differ in style or plot content, since it's more of a filler than actual plot progression. Reviews for the stressed-out author please; I shall try to crank out the next chapter after I'm done applying for college.**


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